


The Singing Detective

by fiveainley_ohmy



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (but you feel kind of sorry for her?), Anyway John really loves Sherlock, BAMF John, Baby Watson, Crackalicious, Dancing and Singing, Don't Drink The Tea, F/M, Infidelity, M/M, Mary is Not Nice, Parent!lock, Pining, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sexual Humor, Sherlock is the sweetest thing, Spontaneous Song And Dance Numbers, Story: The Adventure of the Dying Detective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-07-15
Packaged: 2018-06-10 10:05:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 21,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6952207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fiveainley_ohmy/pseuds/fiveainley_ohmy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Culverton Smith has drugged London's tea supply, making everyone randomly burst into song and dance. That's right. It's a Sherlock musical.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notjustmom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wet dreams, Smauglock, Rockylock, Sherlock's Military Kink, and John's Red Pants-sexual fantasies galore!!!! (Also, John Watson flirts with dragons. Your point is invalid.)

> " _It's only right that you should play the way you feel it; but listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness. Like a heartbeat, drives you mad, in the stillness of remembering what you had, and what you lost._ " -"Dreams" by Fleetwood Mac

The brave knight climbed the spiraling staircase of the fortress, sword in his left hand, walking stick in his right, to the dragon’s lair. He crept into the dark chamber, looking around, barely able to make out anything with his helmet on. When suddenly, he heard a dark, wicked chuckle, and yelped as he felt giant scaly fingers curl around him and lift him from the cobblestoned floor.

“ _Ah!_ ” yelped the knight, dropping his sword in surprise. He felt a blast of hot air, and suddenly light in the chamber shone through the grate of his helmet as the dragon’s flame breath ignited the row of lanterns lining the wall.

“Well, well, well…” rumbled a deep warm voice. “What have we here?”

The knight cleared his throat. He was afraid, but he had been in dangerous situations before – he was known for his valor in the Ogre Wars of Afghanistan, where he’d earned his limp (even though he’d been stabbed in the shoulder). “I am Sir Watson, court physician and Captain of the guard, and I’ve come to slay the dragon!” he announced.

The beast laughed again. “A Captain, eh? You’re a small one, brave knight. With a psychosomatic limp, I should add. However, it has been awhile since I’ve eaten, which I don’t do while I’m working. Digestion slows the thought process. I’m due for a treat… _you didn’t knock when you entered, baby. You didn’t wipe your feet. I didn’t see an Open House sign. Is this a Trick or Treat? You need to brush up on fairytales, friend, ‘cause dragons like their sleep! I wrote the blog on fire-breathing; why don’t you read it and weep?..._ ”

“H-hey, small world,” Sir Watson laughed nervously. “I have a blog too-”

“ _I’m gonna shake you! I’m gonna bake you! I’m gonna make you…a Captain pot pie!_ ”

“What?!” Sir Watson squawked.

“ _Salisbury steak you! I’ll frosted flake you! I’ll patty-cake you, my Captain pot pie!_ ”

Sir Watson felt the dragon’s mighty paw take hold of his helmet and carefully twist it off his head. The knight gasped as the monster lifted him to eye level, preparing to devour him. The dragon gazed at him with huge, pale blue…damn-

“WAIT A MINUTE!” Sir Watson cried.

The dragon froze.

Sir Watson gulped. “ _My, what big eyes you have. They’re so sparkling bright. I bet you hear this from all of your food, but you must have great sight. Are those eyelashes natural? Oh, I’m so scared right now. I like a man with a holding stare, and you have one, and how!_ ”

The dragon growled threateningly, bringing his prey closer to his hungry jaws.

Sir Watson flinched. “ _Don’t kill me…dragonwiththeprettyeyes._ ”

The dragon raised the knight to his mouth, and Sir Watson clenched his eyes shut, preparing for death. But to Sir Watson’s surprise, the dragon pursed his full lips and briefly kissed the top of his blonde head.

Sir Watson opened his eyes. “Huh?”

“ _I’m…gonna love you…_ ”

“Uh oh.”

“ _And take hold of you…_ ” the dragon crooned.

“Slow down, love-!”

“ _I’ll velvet glove you_ …”

“Velvet glove me?” said Sir Watson, confused and scared (and a little excited).

“ _…my Captain pot pie!_ ”

The dragon lowered Sir Watson to the ground again, onto a lovely four poster bed. “Mind if I slip into something a bit more comfortable?” he growled enticingly.

Sir Watson was paralyzed as he watched the dragon tromp over to a magical lab station in the corner. The dragon picked up a bubbling cauldron and drank from it. Suddenly, his great scales began to glow, and before Sir Watson’s very eyes, the dragon transformed into a gorgeous wizard. He was tall and had chocolate-colored curls and cheekbones that could cut glass. He wore a long flowing navy cape, a blue scarf, and a suit of plum that was form fitting and showed off the wizard’s slender body.

Sir Watson licked his lips. He was a knight who had lain with both men and women on three different land masses, but this man was by far the most beautiful individual that had taken him to bed.

The wizard fixed him with a piercing gaze with those captivating eyes and strode across the chamber toward the knight. He tossed his cape and scarf aside, climbed onto the bed, and straddled Sir Watson’s hips, waving his hand over his armor, making it magically disappear. He ran his hand up Sir Watson’s tunic and cupped his cheek, bringing their lips together in a searing kiss. Sir Watson groaned and kissed him back, sliding his hand down to cup the wizard’s tight round arse.

The wizard pulled back. “ _I’m gonna keep you! Little Bo Peep you! I’m gonna sweep you into the…skyyyyyyy…I’m gonna squeeze you! I’m gonna tease you! I’m gonna please you! I’m gonna have me a big ol’, honkin’, sloppy, gloppy, cherry on the toppy, piece of Captain! Pot! Pie!_ ”

Sir Watson’s heart was racing. He was getting very warm, and wanted nothing more than to strip off all his clothes, and the wizard’s as well. His trousers were getting rapidly tighter as well. “Wha-what did you do to me?” Sir Watson gasped.

“Oh, I suppose I should have mentioned – the kiss of a dragon contains a mild pheromone,” said the wizard.

Sir Watson groaned like an animal, dragging the wizard back down by the scruff of his long, slender, delicious looking neck to kiss him again, thrusting his tongue into his mouth, consuming more of the drug. The wizard whimpered into the kiss, which only turned Sir Watson on further, rolling them where he was on top, rubbing against the wizard. The wizard gasped, and Sir Watson pulled away to nuzzle and bite at his neck. He sucked hard, popping blood vessels, and the wizard moaned his name, begging to be taken.

Sir Watson pulled away, beginning to peel off the wizard’s clothes, exposing his exquisite body bit by bit. “ _Baby, can’t you see, I’m calling. A guy like you should wear a warning. It’s dangerous – I’m fallin’. There’s no escape, I can’t wait. I need a hit; baby, give me it. You’re dangerous – I’m lovin’ it._ ” As the wizard pulled his tunic from his body and ran his hands all over his chest, Sir Watson sang, “ _Too high, can’t come down. Losin’ my head, spinnin’ round and round – do you feel me now?...With a taste of your lips, I’m on a ride. You’re toxic, I’m slippin’ under. I’ve tasted a poison paradise. I’m addicted to you, don’t you know that you’re toxic?_ ” Sir Watson groaned as his gorgeous wizard slid his hand into his pants and stroked him. “ _And I love what you do, don’t you know that you’re toxic?_ ”

Sir Watson was already close. He threw his head back, about to-

John gasped, sitting up in bed. He was sweating, and his prick was leaking in his pants, aching to be touched. Mary stirred next to him, but luckily didn’t wake up.

After taking a moment to calm down, John quietly slipped out of bed and into the bathroom to take care of himself.

It certainly wasn’t the first time John had had a sex dream about Sherlock, he thought later as he was getting dressed. But that was definitely the first time there was music…and medieval roleplay…and semi-bestiality.

John shook his head, thinking about the cold pizza he’d had for dinner. Never again.

* * *

The mad scientist watched as his creation writhed beneath the lightning strikes, groaning as it reanimated. “He’s _aliiiiiive!_ ” he cried. Molly, his assistant, the one who had supplied him with the perfect cadaver for the experiment, let out a small “yay!” and clapped her hands supportively from off to the side.

Finally, the mad scientist pulled his lever, and the skylight closed. The giant tray holding his specimen was lowered and angled to where his creature was mostly upright.

Sherlock, with a flourish, pulled away the sheet, uncovering his perfect creation: a man.

He was perfect. Golden hair, nice solid build, ruggedly handsome features with a gentleness to them. The only physical imperfection was the starburst of scar tissue on his left shoulder (the owner of this body had been a soldier who’d died in combat), but Sherlock hardly cared about that. Sherlock stared anxiously into the face of his creation.

The man’s eyes fluttered open. They were deep and blue. They landed on Sherlock immediately. The man blinked several times, then grinned crookedly at Sherlock. “Well, hello there,” he said in a buttery tenor. “Who are you then, gorgeous?”

Sherlock blushed, despite having been the one to bring the man back to life. “My name is Sherlock Holmes. I regret to inform you, but you died in combat, Captain.”

“Oh? And I suppose I’m in heaven now…’cause I see an angel.” Captain Watson winked.

Sherlock flushed even harder. “No. I brought you back to life here in my laboratory.”

“Oh, a science guy, eh? Brainy is the new sexy, you know.” Captain Watson slipped out of the loose restraints on his tray and walked toward Sherlock, seemingly uncaring about his naked body, covered only by his bright red pants. He wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck and purred, “How can I ever repay you, Mister Holmes?” Then he craned up and kissed him squarely on the lips.

Sherlock kissed him back, his exceptional brain going offline momentarily. When they broke off, Sherlock looked at his assistant and said, “Experiment _very_ successful.”

“So I see,” smiled Molly.

Sherlock took Captain Watson’s hand. “Come. Let me show you your birthday present.”

“Oh, I hope it’s tall, dark, and mysterious,” Captain Watson quipped shamelessly.

Sherlock led him to the gymnasium, where he had a set of weights with a big bow on them for the Captain, with a tag reading _Happy Birthday, John_. Watson immediately picked up a ten pound hand weight and began doing arm curls. Sherlock watched him proudly, and said, “ _A weakling…weighing ninety eight pounds…will get sand in his face…when kicked to the ground._ ”

Captain Watson laughed breathily in agreement.

“ _And soon, in the gym_ ,” Sherlock continued. “ _With a determined chin…the sweat from his pores…as he works toward his ca-ha-hause._ ” He tried to pick up a weight but nearly dropped it. Captain Watson caught it however, brushing Sherlock’s hands. He winked again, making Sherlock flush again. “ _Will make him glisten, and gleam…and with massage…and a little bit of…ste-e-e-eam…_ ” Sherlock trailed his finger down Watson’s chest suggestively. “ _He’ll be pink. And quite…clean! He’ll be a stroooong man, but the wroooong man._ ” Sherlock pulled out a weight-lifting bench. “ _He’ll eat nutritious – high protein – and swallow raw eggs._ ” Captain Watson lay back on the bench and began lifting the heavy loaded bar. Sherlock ogled his body in awe. “ _Try to build up his shoulders, chest, arms, and…legs._ ” Sherlock grinned at Molly mischievously. “ _Such an effort. If he only knew of my plan. In just seven days: I can make you a ma-a-a-a-an!_ ”

Captain Watson got on the floor and began doing a set of push-ups. “ _He’ll do press-ups, chin-ups; do the snatch, clean, and jerk. He thinks dynamic tension must be hard work. Such strenuous living; I just don’t understand, when in just seven days: I can make you a ma-a-a-a-an!_ ” As Captain Watson got up, Sherlock threw his arms around his shoulders, threw his head back, and giggled maniacally. Watson looked pretty pleased as well.

Sherlock looked over his shoulder at Molly. “I’ll get to work on yours next week. But for now…leave us.”

Molly winked knowingly and let herself out. Sherlock jumped into the Captain’s arms, who carried him bridal style, as easily as if Sherlock were a pillow. He began walking up the spiraling staircase, to the scientist’s bedroom. Sherlock squeezed his arm muscle, grinned, and sang out, kicking his legs in the air, “ _What a deltoid! And a bi-cep! A cut groin and a tri-cep! Makes me…woo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo…SHAKE! Makes me wanna take Charles Atlas by the…ha-a-and. In just seven days, oh baby…I can make you a ma-a-a-a-an!_ ”

Watson set Sherlock down on the bed and pushed his labcoat off his shoulders. “Damn, gorgeous,” the soldier growled, getting an eyeful of Sherlock’s body and nibbling his neck. “You’re all mine, baby, you know that, don’t you?”

Sherlock squealed as the Captain teased at his sensitive flesh. “ _I don’t want no dissension. Just dynamic…tension. I'm a muscle fan. In just seven days, I can make you a ma-a-a-a-an. Dig it!_ ” Watson flipped him onto his hands and knees, slowly unbuttoning Sherlock’s trousers, pulling down his pants, kissing down his spine… “ _If you ca-a-a-an…in just seven days…_ ooh!” Sherlock mewled. “ _I can make you a man!_ Oh, John,” Sherlock moaned.

“You like that?” Captain Watson said huskily.

Sherlock sighed, all his tense muscles going slack. “ _I was feelin’ done in_ ,” he crooned sweetly. “ _Couldn’t win. I’d only ever kissed before…I thought there’s no use getting into heavy petting. It’s only leads to trouble! And…seat wetting._ ” Sherlock reddened. Watson chuckled fondly, caressing his skin affectionately. “ _Now all I want to know_ ,” Sherlock continued, “ _is how to go. I’ve tasted blood and I want more, more, more, more! I’ll put up no resistance. I want to stay the distance. I’ve got an itch to scratch – I need assistance! Touch-a touch-a touch-a touch me! I wanna be di-i-irty! Thrill me, chill me, fulfill me, creature of the night!_ ”

He was whimpering, his hips stuttering, the pressure building within him…he was calling John’s name-

Sherlock woke up abruptly, a warm wet mess in his pajama pants and leaking onto his sheets. Sherlock, blushing hard, even though he was all by himself, carefully got out of the bed and went to take a shower.

It wasn’t as if it was the first erotic dream the consulting detective had had about his best friend. But it was usually very vanilla, sensual material rather than cinematic. And certainly never set to music. John had shown Sherlock _The Rocky Horror Picture Show_ some years ago, before the Fall, but Sherlock wasn’t aware he’d filed any of it away in his Mind Palace. He didn’t even really remember paying attention to the movie that well…just focusing on John, sitting beside him in the dark…

Sherlock sadly turned off the water and got out of the shower, dripping. No use dwelling on past memories like that anymore...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used:  
> -"Donkey Pot Pie" from Shrek: The Musical  
> -"Toxic" by Britney Spears  
> -"I Can Make You Man", "I Can Make You A Man (Reprise), and "Touch-a, Touch-a, Touch Me" from The Rocky Horror Picture Show


	2. Infected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a new case of /note/ for the boys to solve. Get it? Note? I'm hilarious.

> _You and me have a disease; you infect me, you infect me. I'm afflicted, you're addicted, you and me, you and me..._ -"Infected" by Bad Religion

“So, John, what are you doing today?” said Mary, sipping her tea.

“Well, not much. It’s my day off, so I thought maybe I’d stick around here-” Suddenly, John’s phone chirped at him. “Oh…damn. It’s Sherlock. I have to-”

“I know. Go,” sighed Mary.

“Sorry, but it’s a-”

“Case. I’ve got it. It’s fine, I’ve got…book club,” lied Mary, but she doubted John even heard her.

John drained his teacup and pulled on his jacket. “I’ll see you tonight. Goodbye.”

The door was shut before Mary’s half-hearted “bye” was even out of her mouth. Damn, when Sherlock Holmes called, the rest of the world disappeared to John Watson.

Mary heard the baby crying in the other room and sighed as she got up to change her. “Yeah, I know, kid. Me too.”

* * *

“What are we looking at, Lestrade?” said Sherlock as he and John sat down in the detective inspector’s office.

Lestrade cleared his throat. He was holding a VHS tape (a little low tech, but whatever), and there was a television and VCR on a roller cart in his office. “Not yet, Sherlock. You’re a little early. We’re still waiting on someone.”

“Well, wait no longer, Gregory,” said a lofty voice as Sherlock’s least favorite person came in the office, twirling his umbrella as always.

“What the hell is _Fry_ croft doing here, George?” Sherlock grouched.

“It was I who asked if _you_ could be called in, Sherlock. We have a matter of national importance to attend to.”

“Bo-ring,” Sherlock declared.

“Sherlock,” said John, touching his arm. “ _Behave_.”

Sherlock harrumphed, but slouched in his plastic chair in defeat.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “We’ve gathered, Sherlock, because there seems to be a national pandemic sweeping the greater London area.”

“General health, not my area. I suppose you could consult John, but I doubt he’d get you very far,” Sherlock yawned.

“Excuse you, I’m a very good doctor, thank you,” said John, affronted.

"The problem isn't bacterial or viral, Sherlock. It is psychological," Mycroft informed his surly younger brother. "Gregory, show them the tape."

Lestrade popped the video into the VCR and pressed **PLAY**. After a second, a CCTV recording appeared on the screen of the outside of a bar. A couple of bouncers were throwing out a man who was enthusiastically dancing and singing cheerfully at the top of his lungs. The man's friends came out to join him, looking at him as if he'd gone insane (for good reason).

" _I don't know how! I don't know why. But I like ladies...and I like guys! I realize it's a surprise. But now I see that it's just me, it's not like I even try! So if you ask me how I'm doin'...here is my reply: I'm g-g-g-g-gettin' bi! I'm gettin' bi! Oh yeah, I'm lettin' my bi flag fly. Not gonna hide it! Not gonna lie! I'm a bi kinda guy, there's no reason to be shy! My, my, my, it's a fact I can't deny: I'm bi, bi, bi, until the day I die!_ "

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Mycroft, _really_. You called us here to watch a tape of a drunk man singing?"

"The man had no alcohol in his system when picked up by the police," said Mycroft.

"Drugs, then."

"Nope. The guy was perfectly clean," said Lestrade. "His friends said that no matter how they tried to get him to snap out of it, he couldn't stop singing and dancing. Even the guy himself said it was like he couldn't stop."

"There's more," said Mycroft. "Fast forward to the adulterer's wife."

"Yeah, Cindy Brown found out her husband was sleeping with someone else, and came to his place of work to chew him out. Again, inexplicably broke in song."

The screen showed a typical cubicle field, with a bunch of people standing around, watching engrossed as a livid looking woman was trying to fight a man, singing passionately, " _Tell me why you lookin' so confused, when I'm the one who didn't know the truth? How could you ever be so cold? To go behind my back and call my friend? Boy, you must have gone and bumped your head...'cause you left her number on your phone!_ " The woman threw his mobile at the man's head, and then was dragged away by security, kicking and scream-singing, " _Get out! Right now! It's the end of you and me!..._ "

"Fascinating," said Sherlock. "Any more cases caught on camera?"

"Only one. This one from Heathrow airport. Apparently one of the women had been on a plane to Germany to go and meet her fiancé, when her best friend appeared and professed her undying love to her," said Lestrade, scrolling through the video. "Ah, here it is."

The woman was holding her friend's hands, singing earnestly, " _Your eyes...as we said our goodbyes...c_ _an't get them out of my mind._ _And I find, I can't hide...f_ _rom your eyes._ _The ones that took me by surprise, t_ _he night you came into my life._ _Where there's moonlight, I see your eyes._ _How'd I let you slip away?_ _When I'm longing so to hold you? H_ _ow I'd die, for one more day, 'c_ _ause there's something I should have told you..._ "

"I've seen enough," said Sherlock. "So, something is making people uncontrollably burst into spontaneous song and/or dance numbers uncontrollably, is that it?"

"Yes. We believe it to be some sort of psychotic episode. Though somehow, everyone affected by this...phenomenon magically has perfect pitch, rhythm, and even choreographical skills - convenient. I would normally have people looking into the matter, but this frankly ridiculous epidemic would make England the laughingstock of the world if it got out to the general public," said Mycroft. "I don't even trust my staff, except for the ever-faithful Anthea, of course. Which is why I need you and Doctor Watson. I trust you'll be discreet, yes?"

Sherlock snorted, standing up. "This is intriguing to say the least, but I still believe it's pure poppycock. Nevertheless, I would like to get to the bottom of it. Fine, brother mine. I'll pick up your gauntlet."

"I thought you might," Mycroft smirked.

Sherlock looked at the DI sharply. "Grant, anything linking the victims?"

"Just one thing," said Lestrade. "The... _performers_ reported that before they started singing out loud, they started having musical dreams beforehand."

Both John and Sherlock stiffened up.

Mycroft leaned forward. "Problem, boys?"

"No, no, of course not," snapped Sherlock. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to get started on this case straight away. Come along, John."

The detective's blogger faithfully followed his friend out the door.

* * *

In the taxi on the way to 221B Baker Street, Sherlock said, out of the blue, "I did too."

John looked at him sharply. "Did what?"

"Had a musical dream, last night. I saw how you tensed when Lestrade mentioned it."

John looked at his lap. "I thought you said this case was poppycock."

"It might just be. In any event, it's definitely not boring," Sherlock said.

They rode for a few more moments in silence. Then Sherlock said, "What did you dream of?"

"Ah...dragons," said John, blushing hard. "You?"

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Frankenstein."

"Oh."

They were both very quiet as they traveled the rest of the way.

"But it must be rubbish, right?" said John as they came inside 221B and hung up their coats.

Sherlock opened his mouth to answer, but then, he froze as they heard music trailing from the ajar door to Mrs. Hudson's flat.

" _Come my little friends, as we sing a happy little working song...merry little voices clear and strong..._ "

Sherlock quietly pushed the door open.

Mrs. Hudson was flitting around her sitting room, tidying up, singing loudly. It wasn't _unusual_ for their landlady to hum to herself while doing housework, but this was a full on song-and-dance number. " _Come and roll your sleeves up so to speak and pitch in...cleaning crud up in the kitchen as we sing along..._ "

John and Sherlock stared in disbelief. "Maybe...not so rubbish after all," Sherlock admitted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used:  
> -"Getting Bi" from the CW's Crazy Ex-Girlfriend (you really should listen to it)  
> -"Leave (Get Out)" by Jojo  
> -"Your Eyes" from RENT  
> -"Happy Working Song" from Disney's Enchanted


	3. The Riddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cursed bread and pining Sherlock.

> _He said, son, why you gotta sing that tune? Catch a Dylan song or some eclipse of the moon. Let an angel swing and make you swoon. Then you will see, you will see._ -“The Riddle” by Five For Fighting

Sherlock was sitting at his regular lab station at Bart’s, immersed in inspecting something under the microscope. He barely looked up as John came in, carrying their coffees.

“Black, two sugars,” said John, setting the cardboard cup next to Sherlock. Then John grinned wickedly. “I went to a _latte_ trouble to get it.”

Sherlock snorted with laughter, then caught himself and abruptly trained his features to glare reproachfully at his partner in crime-solving. “Never do that in my presence again.”

“You know you like my puns,” John said, settling onto the stool beside his friend. He looked at the slide, containing a tiny splotch of red, that Sherlock was so heavily focused on. “That have to do with the case?”

“ _A_ case,” Sherlock replied blandly. “This is a blood sample from one Victor Savage; his body was fished out of the Thames four nights ago.”

“Well that’s awful, Sherlock, but you're spending time on a jumper when there's a national crisis on the docket?” John uttered, sipping his coffee.

Sherlock blew a raspberry, which John found terribly adorable. “You know my older _bother_ \- he likes to be dramatic.”

“Must be in the genetics,” John murmured.

Sherlock gazed at John out of the corner of his eye, smirking briefly.

“Sherlock...it's very possible that you, me, Mrs. Hudson, and God knows who else, has already been infected by this thing,” John pointed out.

Sherlock blinked several times. Then he reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out his mobile, and handed it to John. “Need you to send a text for me. To Mycroft.”

John found the older Holmes’ brother listed as “Piss Off Myc” with an umbrella emoji next to it in Sherlock’s contacts.

“Send him just this: _le pain maudit_. L-e p-a-i-n m-a-u-d-i-t.”

John obediently typed it in and hit **SEND**. “That French?” he inquired.

“ _Oui_.”

“What's it mean?” John said. “‘Maudlin pain’?”

“Very close, John,” said Sherlock commendingly.

John beamed. “Really?”

“Not at all.”

John deflated. “Oh. Well, what _does_ it mean?”

“It roughly translates to ‘the cursed bread’.”

“Oh.” John blinked several times in confusion. “So...Mycroft’s on one of his diets again?”

Sherlock chuckled. “Something like that. Now, ask me again why I'm inspecting this blood sample.”

John sighed. “I haven't a clue. Tell me.”

“Because Victor Savage didn't jump. Not willingly,” Sherlock said.

“Then how did he end up in the Thames? Was he pushed?” John guessed.

Sherlock licked his lips. “In 1951, in a small village in France, Pont-Saint-Esprit, the villagers began to show signs of madness, for no reason. Over 200 people were reported infected, many were admitted into asylums, and 7 died. People were having mad hallucinations: that they were on fire, that insects were crawling out of their skin. One man thought he was an aircraft and killed himself jumping out a window.”

“Jesus,” shuddered John. “What was it? What made them all go mad?”

Sherlock looked at him and answered, “Cursed bread.”

John scoffed, “oh, come on-”

“Upon inspecting a local baker’s flour, they found what they believed to be the common fungus known as ergot growing in the grain, affecting all who had consumed the bread and making them go insane.”

“So it was fungi?” said John. “That's terrible.”

“Well...maybe not.”

John shook his head, confused. “What?”

“Several centuries later, a journalist reopened the case. He dug deeper and found that quite possibly what had poisoned the villagers was not ergot at all...but lysergic acid diethylamide, known to the layman as LSD or acid. It turned out it had been a covert operation carried out by the American Central Intelligence Agency to test LSD on a controlled population, to see if they could use the drug as a means of biological warfare against the Soviets in the Cold War,” Sherlock informed him gravely.

John’s eyes practically popped out of their sockets. “Oh my God... _really?_ ”

Sherlock burst out laughing. “Of course not, that's just the conspiracal ramblings of idiots who don't have anything _real_ to do with their time. It was ergot poisoning, plain and simple.”

John sighed with relief.

“Then again...” Sherlock’s serious tone reappeared. “There’s an off chance they were possibly right...and you know what I always say about the impossible.”

John shuddered. “Alright, before you put your tinfoil hat on, will you _please_ explain to me what ‘cursed bread’ and LSD have to do with the musical fever? Or Victor Savage?”

“There was something in his bloodstream, John. A neurotoxin, injected by a tiny pinprick I found in Savage’s neck.” Sherlock ushered John to have a look in the microscope, which required John to lean over Sherlock’s lap. “Savage was drugged with something that made him lose his mind and accidentally take a plunge into the Thames. Now, _here_ ,” said Sherlock, removing the slide and replacing it with another, “is a sample of _my_ blood, in which I found a trace of the same toxin, only much less concentrated. And the same with Mrs. Hudson's blood. And probably-”

“ _AH!_ ” John exclaimed as Sherlock made an impromptu jab into his finger with a surgical lancet while he was distracted by the microscope, taking a blood sample from him.

“-with yours as well.”

Sherlock grabbed a cotton ball, dribbled a few drops of medicinal iodine on it, and took John’s hand, pressing the cotton to the puncture wound. “I haven't identified the toxin yet, John. Its chemical makeup is unlike anything I've ever seen. We could be dealing with a bioterrorist for all I know. However they’ve infected us, whatever the victims’ common denominator is, that's the _pain maudit_ we have to seek out, and cut it off at the source before it hurts anyone else.”

John’s eyes darted down to his hand being grasped in Sherlock’s two large ones. One was wrapped around his index finger, holding the cotton in place, squeezing slightly to apply pressure. The other was holding his wrist, the pads of his fingers right on top of his pulse point, and John was sure that William Sherlock Scott “the most observant man in the world” Holmes was realizing his heart rate was picking up from his touch.

Sherlock too looked down in surprise at their conjoined hands, then back up at John, his mouth - full, plump, utterly _kissable_ lips - falling open in surprise-

John’s phone went off, making both men jump. John reluctantly pulled out of Sherlock's grasp and checked his mobile. “Um...it's...”

“Mary,” said Sherlock understandingly. “Go.”

“I would stick around...but the baby...”

“It's fine. There's not much here for you to do anyway,” said Sherlock, turning back to his slide making station, where he began to process John’s sample. “Go be with your family.”

John opened his mouth, then shut it again. He sighed, stuffed his phone in his pocket, picked up his coffee cup, and started for the exit. “G’night, Sherlock.”

“Goodnight, John,” Sherlock replied, giving him a small smile.

John cast him one last look, nodded, and walked out.

* * *

As soon as John was gone, Sherlock's smile fell.

Why had John been _looking_ at him that way? Staring at this mouth...pupils dilating...and his pulse...quickening beneath Sherlock's touch...

No. He was imagining things. John loved him, but as a friend, nothing more. He “wasn't gay”. And if he did feel some attraction to Sherlock, it was irrelevant. It was a passing fancy at most. Because Sherlock was Sherlock. He wasn't _her_.

Sherlock's skin tingled warmly when John had touched him. The detective could feel his cheeks heating up the way they always did when he and John made physical contact. It was stupid, really. Flushing like a schoolgirl at practically nothing.

" _Hands touch...eyes meet_ ," Sherlock softly began to sing. " _Sudden silence...sudden heat. Hearts leap in a giddy whirl...he could be that boy...but I'm not that girl._ "

" _Don't dream too far_ ," Sherlock continued to croon, busying himself with John's blood sample. " _Don't lose sight of who you are. Don't remember that rush of joy. He could be that boy...but I'm not that girl_." Sherlock propped his chin on his hand longingly. " _Every so often, we long to steal to the Land of What Might Have Been. But that doesn't soften the ache we feel...when reality sets back in. Blithe smile...lithe limb. She who's winsome...she wins him. Gold hair with a gentle curl...that's the girl he chose. And, Heaven knows...I'm not that girl._ "

Sherlock sat up straight, determined to put his heartache behind him. " _Don't wish_ ," he whispered. " _Don't start. Wishing only wounds the heart. I wasn't born for the rose and pearl...there's a girl I know. He loves her so...I'm not that girl_." Sherlock sighed resignedly and turned to get back to work, but was startled by the sight of Molly standing there.

"Oh! I didn't hear you," said Sherlock, slightly humiliated.

"I-I knocked. But you must not have heard me," said Molly timidly. "You have a pretty singing voice."

"What?" said Sherlock.

"Just then, that song you were singing. It was from _Wicked_ , right? I like that musical too. Although _Cats_ is my favorite."

"I...wasn't singing," said Sherlock, confused. "I was just talking, thinking aloud...I think. Wasn't I? I can't...really remember."

"No, you were definitely singing," said Molly.

Sherlock blinked. "It's already happening. I've got to solve this case as soon as possible." Sherlock hurriedly began switching out the slides under his microscope.

"You were singing about John, weren't you."

Sherlock froze.

Molly stared back at him somberly. "You're in love with him."

Sherlock's eyes flicked down to his lap in shame.

"...sorry," Molly said softly.

Sherlock shifted uncomfortably.

"So, you're...y-you like...you're-"

"You can say 'gay', Molly, it's not a slur," Sherlock said softly. She must be so disgusted with him, besotted with a _married_ man.

But Molly, to Sherlock's surprise, came over and loosely hugged him around the shoulders. Also to Sherlock's surprise, he let her hug him. "I'm sorry," Molly said sincerely. "I know what it's like. It hurts - a lot."

Sherlock felt a bit guilty. "Sorry," he apologized.

Molly actually laughed. "Well at least now I know it's not me!"

"Molly, you're remarkable," Sherlock told her firmly. "And smart, and funny, and beautiful. You will find someone who loves you, someday. Not that you need them."

"Thank you, Sherlock. Honestly. That means a lot." Molly sat on the stool next to him. "And what do you plan to do about John?" she asked him tentatively.

Sherlock looked at his lap. "Nothing. What I've always done: be his friend, and nothing more. Nothing can change between John and I...and you can't tell him, Molly, swear to me!"

"Alright, calm down, Batman, your secret's safe with me," said Molly lullingly. "You know, John may be your  _best_ friend, but he's not the only one you've got. If you need someone, Sherlock, ever, I'm here for you.  _Lean on me...when you're not strong...and I'll be your friend. I'll help you carry on_ -"

"Molly..."

" _For...it won't be long...till I'm gonna need...somebody to lean on_ ," Molly continued to sing, conversationally, not even realizing she was doing it. " _Please...swallow your pride...if I have faith you need to borrow. For...no one can fill...those of your needs...that you won't let show. You just call on me, brother, when you need a hand. We all need somebody to lean on. I just might have a problem that you'll understand. We all need somebody to lean on_."

Molly seemed to be done. "Thank you, Molly," said Sherlock earnestly. "But what I really need from you right now is a blood sample."

"A blood sample? Why?"

"Because, like me and John and possibly others, you've been infected," Sherlock hurriedly explained, gently pricking her with another lancet. "Something's spreading through London. And if I don't find the  _pain maudit_ soon, it may soon reach the rest of the world."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used:  
> -"I'm Not That Girl" from Wicked  
> -"Lean On Me" by Bill Withers


	4. Halfway Gone

> _You were always hard to hold, so letting go ain't easy. I'm hanging on but growing cold while my mind is leaving; talk, talk is cheap. Give me a word you can keep._ -“Halfway Gone” by Lifehouse

John was having another dream. It was his wedding day. He was staring into the mirror, trying to fix his tie but to no avail. John growled in frustration.

“Here. Let me,” said a voice.

John turned to see a woman in a lilac bridesmaid’s gown, his height, with the same wheat blonde hair, dark blue eyes, and bulbous nose as himself. “Harry?”

His sister grinned at him, fixing his tie easily for him. “I used to do this for you all the time when we were kids, ‘member? Just like riding a bike; you never forget. Hey, do you remember when you took Sissy Farmer to the school dance our 11th year?”

“You stole her from me,” John laughed. “The chaperones found you two in the girls’ room with your hand up her skirt.”

“Good times,” Harry chuckled. “But you weren't in love with her or anything.” Then she looked deeply into John's eyes. There was a touch of sorrow there. “And you aren't in love with _her_ now, are you?”

John sighed. “I...I thought I was.”

“You know who you really want, don't you.” Harry turned John to look back at himself in the mirror. “You can have what you want. It's not hard. All you have to do is speak up... _hey, little brother, what have you done? Hey, little brother, who’s the only one? Hey, little brother, who’s your Superman, hey, little brother, who's the one you want, hey, little brother, shotgun!_ ”

Harry, leading him by the shoulders, escorted him into the chapel. “ _It's a nice day to start again. It's a nice day for a white wedding. It's a nice day to...start again._ ”

The guests all rose as they entered. Harry whispered in his ear as she pushed him down the aisle. “ _Hey, little brother, who is it you're with? Hey, little brother, what's your vice and wish?”_ Harry thrust him at the altar where the priest was waiting. “ _Hey, little brother, shot gun, oh yeah, hey, little brother, who's your Superman? Hey, little brother, shotgun!_ ”

To John’s surprise, _two_ people in white appeared on either side of him: Mary, in her bridal dress and veil, and in an ivory version of his wedding tux...Sherlock.  
  
“ _It's a nice day to start again..._ ” Harry sang as she joined the other bridesmaids, who were all dancing to her rhythm. “ _It's a nice day for a white wedding. It's a nice day to...start again!_ ” Harry unsheathed a bottle of champagne and popped the cork, letting a stream of warm frothy liquid flow free.

The priest was saying the oaths, but John couldn't hear him. Mary griped his right hand and Sherlock took his left, affectionately stroking the tremors out of it. John’s gaze darted from his wife to his best friend, utterly lost.  
  
Harry cackled. “ _Pick it up! Take me back home, yeah!...hey, little brother, what have you done?_ ”

John looked back at Mary to see that she had changed into her assassin’s outfit, holding her gun and stroking her suddenly swollen pregnant belly with it.

“ _Hey, little brother, who's the only one?_ ” Harry asked. John’s head inevitably turned to look at Sherlock, who was gazing at him so tenderly and so full of love. John swallowed hard.

“ _I've been away for so long_ ,” Sherlock muttered. (“ _So long_ ,” Harry echoed.) " _I've been away for so long_ ( _so long_ )... _I let you go for so long._ ”  
  
“ _It's a nice day to start again!_ ” declared the priest, who had taken the form of Mike Stamford. He winked at John knowingly.

Mrs. Hudson, who was sitting in the congregation, suddenly stood up and sang out, “ _Come on, it's a nice day for a white wedding._ ”

“ _It's a nice day to start again_ ,” Greg Lestrade agreed.

The wedding goers were exiting their pews and inching closer and closer to John, closing in on him.  
  
“ _There is nothing fair in this world_ ,” Sherlock said morosely.

“ _There is nothing safe in this world_ ,” Mary stated with a menacing smirk.

“ _And there's nothin' sure in this world. And there's nothin' pure in this world_ ,” Harry sang liltingly, ruffling John’s hair. “ _Look for something left in this world...start again!_ _Come on, it's a nice day for a white wedding!_ ”

The congregation began chanting together, crowding John tighter and tighter. “ _It's a nice day to start again, it's a nice day to start again, it's a nice day to start again..._ ”

“ENOUGH!” John hollered, and everyone took a big step back, except Mary and Sherlock, who both remained at arm's length.

“It's...it's not easy!” John exclaimed. “Mary’s my _wife_. The bloody mother of my child. It's not like I can just ignore that!...And Sherlock...” John cast a longing look at his best friend, who gazed back at him. “He's always been special to me. How can I just...how do I... _one looks for happiness. One longs to find a partner. One knows that nowadays, one love will be the answer_.” Mary snatched his hands and pulled him in to dance, though it was awkward with Mary’s pregnant stomach between them. “ _One sees a crazy world. One needs a fresh perspective. One comes to realize_...” Sherlock silently asked if he could dance with John, and John agreed, breaking away from his wife and taking the detective into his arms. “ _...one love’s a true objective. One seeks a perfect love. One learns to tell the difference_ -” Mary grabbed John back. “ _One finds in consequence - one love is all that makes sense. One hopes there’ll be a way. One peers into the distance. One thinks that come what may-_ ” John switched back to Sherlock. “ _One love may be the best chance._ ”

John continued to dance sweepingly with the consulting detective as the wedding party sang along with him. “ _One love! And only one. One love! To last forever. One love! And only one love. One love...it’s now or never_!”

“ _One tries to draw a line_ ,” John sang as Sherlock and Mary passed him back and forth. “ _One draws a swift conclusion. One tells oneself, in life...one love is the solution. One falls in love at last. One celebrates the meeting. One always will because one love cannot be beaten._ ”

“ _One love!_ ” chimed the crowd as John’s trio began a snappy line dance. “ _And only one. One love! With no misgivings. One love! And only one love. One love...while we're still living._ ”

Sherlock and Mary took turns spinning John around and around. John felt as though he was going to be sick. “ _One tries to draw a line. One draws a swift conclusion. One tells oneself, in life...one love is the solution. One falls in love at last. One celebrates the meeting. One always will because_...” John ended up in Sherlock's arms, and decided that right there was where he wanted to stay. _“...one love cannot be beaten!_ ”

“ _One love! And only one. One love! To last forever. One love! And only one love. One love...it’s now or never!_ ” the choir sang as John and Sherlock swirled and twirled their way around the dance floor. “ _One love! And only one. One love! With no misgivings. One love! And only one love. One love...while we're still living!_ ”

Sherlock's face was very close. John’s eyes fluttered closed as he leaned in to-

The alarm blared loudly, snapping John awake. John groaned and switched it off, rising to get ready for work.  _Bloody hell...I've got to do something. This is getting out of control!_ Rubbing his eyes blearily, John looked to see that he was alone in bed.  _Where's Mary?_

* * *

Mary had come into the kitchen to find Sherlock rifling through their cabinets. "Good morning," she said, slightly peeved. "And what are you doing here?"

"Taking inventory of your foodstuffs," Sherlock replied absently. "Need to find the common denominator. What's infected us?"

"What the hell are you talking about," Mary asked flatly.

"Oh? John didn't tell you?" said Sherlock. "It's our new case. I guess he must've forgotten to fill you in." He didn't smirk or anything, but the slight lift of his eyebrows implied the underlying meaning of his statement: _I see the honeymoon's over, Mrs. Watson._

Mary exhaled through her nose. Goddamn him. "Well, we were a bit _busy_ last night. If you get my drift."

That was a flatout lie. John and Mary hadn't had sex in months. Hell, they'd barely _spoken_ in months. But Sherlock didn't have to know that.

"Really, that's interesting, considering how tired he seemed going home last night. You shouldn't have kept him up when he should have been sleeping," Sherlock shot back conversationally.

"Well, maybe if _you_ weren't keeping him out to all hours playing _Scooby Doo_ ," Mary bristled.

"I'm not keeping him anywhere. John is _exactly_ where he wants to be."

"That's right, he's in bed. _Our_ bed. Where we sleep together. Every. Night."

"That's not what the state of your couch cushions told me."

Mary glared at Sherlock. Sherlock impassively stared right back.

Mary opened her mouth. "Excuse me. Can I please talk to you for a minute?" she asked.

"Uh huh, sure," replied Sherlock. "You know...you look kinda familiar."

"Yeah, you do too, but I just wanted to know...do you know somebody named..." Mary scoffed. "Oh - you know his name."

"Oh yeah, definitely, I _know_ his name," Sherlock said.

"Well I just want to let you that he's _mine_ ," Mary stated.

Sherlock laughed. "No-no. He's mine."

Mary sneered at him. " _You need to give it up. Had about enough. It's not hard to see, the boy is mine_ ," said Mary, tapping her wedding ring. " _I'm sorry that you seem to be confused. He belongs to me, the boy is mine...Think it's time we got this straight. Let's sit and talk face to face. There is no way you could mistake him for your man, are you insane?_ "

" _But see I know that you may be just a bit jealous of me_ ," said Sherlock haughtily. " _But you're blind if you can't see that his love is all in me._"

" _See, I tried to hesitate_ ," sighed Mary. " _I didn't want to say what he told me. He said, without me he couldn't make it through the day, ain't that a shame?_ " (That was technically true, but John had said it - maybe in not so many words - _before_ Sherlock had come back.)

" _But maybe you misunderstood_ ," Sherlock argued. " _Because I can't see how he could wanna change something that's so good. All my love was all it took. You need to give it up. Had about enough. It's not hard to see the boy is mine. I'm sorry that you seem to be confused. He belongs to me, the boy is mine._ _Must you do the things you do? You keep on acting like a fool. You need to know it's me, not you. And if you didn't know it, girl, it's true._ "

" _I think that you should realize, and try to understand why, he is a part of my life - I know it's killing you inside._ " Mary smirked nastily.

" _You can say what you wanna say!_ " Sherlock retorted. " _What we have you can't take. From the truth you can't escape - I can tell the real from the fake._"

" _When will you get the picture?_ " Mary questioned. " _You're the past, I'm the future. Get away, it's my time to shine. If you didn't know, the boy is mine._ "

" _You need to give it_ _up_ ," they sang together, coming chest to chest, their noses angrily pressed into each other's faces. " _Had about enough. It's not hard to see the boy is mine. I'm sorry that you seem to be confused. He belongs to me, the boy is mine. You need to give it up. Had about enough. It's not hard to see the boy is mine. I'm sorry that you seem to be confused. He belongs to me, the boy is mine._ "

" _You can't destroy this love I've found_ ," said Mary. " _Your silly games, I won't allow. The boy is mine, without a doubt. You might as well throw in the towel._ "

" _What makes you think that he wants you, when I'm the one that brought him to the special place that's in my heart?_ " Sherlock inquired. " _He was my love right from the start! You need to give it up. Had about enough. It's not hard to see the boy is mine. I'm sorry that you seem to be confused. He belongs to me, the boy is mine._ "

" _You need to give it up_ ," Mary argued. " _Had about enough. It's not hard to see the boy is mine. I'm sorry that you seem to be confused. He belongs to me, the boy is mine._ "

 _The boy is mine, not yours. But mine. Not yours. But mine. Not yours. But mine._ " They sang at each other. " _I'm sorry that you seem to be confused. He belongs to me, the boy is mine!_ "

"Mary?"

Mary blinked. Sherlock had been speaking to her, but she hadn't heard a word he'd said. She'd imagined the whole encounter. "What?" she said.

"I was just telling you about the case. There's a toxin in something we've consumed, making us have...hallucinations. Lose our wills, turning us into singing, dancing idiots. It's quite clever actually. You see, there are studies that believe it's human instinct to make music - after all, birds and whales and dolphins 'sing' as form of communication. In fact, as soon as sound was introduced in cinema, the first movie musical was produced, _The Jazz Singer_. This toxin obviously triggers our primal intuition to vocate our feelings in the form of music - you're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"

"Sorry," said Mary. "Not really. I'm not really awake, I need some tea." She pulled down the box.

"Wait a minute." Sherlock took the box from her. "This is the same tea I use. And Mrs. Hudson as well."

"Yeah, so? Probably just a coincidence, yeah?"

"I don't believe in coincidence." Sherlock whipped out his phone and texted Molly Hooper. "I would be very much surprised if this tea wasn't the catalyst."

Mary froze, stricken. "You mean...we've all been contaminated?"

"Indeed...why?" Sherlock looked at her in concern. "You haven't been displaying symptoms, have you? Random unconscious outbursts of song, or musically fueled fantasies?"

"As a matter of fact..."

"This is spreading fast," fretted Sherlock, looking at his phone, impatiently waiting for Molly to respond. "Don't worry. It's hardly noxious. But still, don't use anymore of that tea till I find out some further information." Sherlock smiled at her warmly, trying to calm her.

Goddamn it. Sherlock was so damn _sweet_. Mary almost felt bad for how much she despised him. _Almost_.

"Whas' going on?" John had finally staggered in, in his dressing gown, sleep clothes, and slippers, rubbing his eyes blearily. "Mary, is the tea on?"

"No tea this morning, John. Your brilliant wife's given us a lead!" Sherlock beamed at Mrs. Watson. Mary tried to smile back.

John yawned. "S'great. Tell me all about it after I get some caffeine in me, yeah?"

As John set to making coffee, Sherlock picked up the tea box and pocketed a few bags. "Gotta analyze this, just to double check." Suddenly, Sherlock's phone chirped. "It's Molly - yes, I knew it, she uses this brand too. I'll text Mycroft, his people can check into the company - produced by..." Sherlock conferred with the box. His eyes widened in realization. "Oh, of course. John, it's Savage Industries."

"Savage? As in, Victor Savage?" said John, leaning against the counter.

"It's coming together. The tea, the toxin, the victim."

"Yeah, but who's the bad guy?" said Mary.

Sherlock bit his lip. "I don't know. But I intend to find out. John, tonight we're going to Savage Industries. We'll investigate this on our own."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used:  
> -"White Wedding" by Billy Idol  
> -"One Love" by (wait for it...) Martin Freeman! (Yes, he sings - this man is too fucking perfect, make him illegal, please.)  
> -"The Boy Is Mine" by Monica and Brandy
> 
> And the info Sherlock spouts about music coming natural to humans came from a Cracked.com video. :)


	5. Boom Clap

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A breakthrough...but maybe not in the way they expected.
> 
> (By the way, I changed my mind about Moriarty. He dead.)

> _You are the light and I will follow,  you make me lose my shadow. You are the sun, a glowing halo, and you keep burning me up with all your love._ -“Boom Clap” by Charli XCX

It was later that day. John was preparing to meet with Sherlock to sneak into Savage Industries. He snapped the magazine into his gun and stuck it in the back of his jeans, ready to whip out at a moment's notice, when Mary came in.

"I don't want you going by yourself," said Mary.

"I'm not," John replied. "Sherlock'll be there."

"I mean, I want to go with you," said Mary.

"You can't go. Who'll watch the baby?"

Mary frowned. "I can have Kate from next door watch her."

"What, with her addict husband hanging about? I don't think so," John laughed derisively.

"May I remind you, you're about to go out with an addict who is also a dangerous sociopath?"

" _Don't_ call him that." John fixed her with an icy glare that had Mary actually taking half a step back. "I don't want you there. It'll be better if it's just the two of us. Just...watch the baby, please." As he passed her, he gave her an insincere kiss on the temple.

Mary crossed her arms angrily, leaning against the door frame of their bedroom, listening as the front door slammed.

 _I don't need this life. I was the Black Widow, dammit. I was feared._ _I killed some of the most powerful men in the world! Ever since John found out I shot Sherlock, he's been turned off. It's so unfair._

" _He had it comin'!_ " Mary proclaimed. " _He had it comin'! He only had himself to blame! If you'd a-been there...if you'd a-seen it! I betcha you would have done the same!_ Now I'm standing in Magnussen's office...killin' snitches...minding my own business. In walks Sherlock in a sleuthing mood. 'You're evil!', he says. He was crazy! And he kept saying, 'let me help you!'...and then he ran into my bullet. He ran into my bullet and almost died!" Mary broke out of her musical state and murmured to herself, "I wish he had."

* * *

"Sherlock, what is this place?" John whispered. It was dark, and they were exploring the compound of Savage Industries. Luckily they had Mycroft's clearance. Sherlock had led them to a small building, which looked to be like a separate office.

"This is Victor Savage's office. It was the last place he reported being seen before his demise. It might contain some clue as to who killed him," Sherlock replied, producing his lock picks. He fiddled with the door till it creaked open for him. "Come on," he hissed quietly.

They shined their torches around the dark office. Sherlock scanned over his desk. "John, look at this. Toxicology reports...indicative of traces of the toxin in a shipment of tea. It was estimated that 150 boxes were contaminated. He knew, John. And whoever was behind it poisoned and kill him for it."

"Sherlock, look," said John, crouched on the floor, shining his light at the carpet. "There's a small, square indent in the carpet. It's from the leg of this armchair. But it's been pushed out of the way, see?"

Sherlock came over to inspect. "You're right. Signs of a struggle. Savage was attacked here.  _Fantastic_ , John!" He smiled proudly at his dear clever friend.

John laughed shyly. "Yeah, well. Just picked up some tricks from the great Sherlock Holmes."

"So he was attacked here...but it's a highly secured area. So the assailant was someone who had clearance. But not just any clearance - executive clearance. More than that, knew their way to this office. Look at it, it's utilitarian, out of the way. It's not meant for receiving company. Plus Savage would have had to let him in. The killer is someone Savage knew personally.  Ooh, this is good, John, very good. Our list of suspects just got a whole lot shorter. I'll have Mycroft compile a list of company executives for us and we'll play process of elimination from there. He's so close I can _smell_ it, John - no, actually, I can smell it." Sherlock sniffed the chair in front of Savage's desk. "Do you smell it?"

John sniffed the back of the chair. "S'cologne, isn't it?"

"Yes, quite strong. That's an older man's cologne. Old Spice or something of the like. Plus he must have failing senses to have doused himself in it so. Savage wore AXE, I've not got any on, and you're wearing that Dolce and Gabbana 'Light Blue' I got you last Christmas."

"So if it's not any of ours..."

"Then it's the killer's," Sherlock concluded. "That's it, John, he's practically in our grasp. Come on, let's go."

Sherlock eagerly let himself out into the cool night air, John right behind him, but they were caught off guard by the sound of gunfire. "Get down!" Sherlock called.

"Is that security?!" John shouted, holding up his hands.

A shot rang again. "It's not security - it's the killer!" Sherlock made to run toward the direction of the assailant.

" _Sherlock, are you insane?!_ " John hollered and grabbed him back. Another shot went off and caught the train of Sherlock's flapping Belstaff, making a hole in the fabric. The shooter'd been close. "Come on!" John grabbed his hand and took off running with Sherlock in tow.

They made it out of the compound and to the street. Sherlock hailed a cab. "221B Baker Street," he said to the driver.

"Shouldn't we call the police?" John said, breathless.

"I'm texting Mycroft and Lestrade now," said Sherlock, typing furiously on his phone. "This proves it, John. The murderer works at Savage Industries. He drugged the tea, and killed Savage for finding out. Oh - _damn_!" Sherlock pounded his fist against the car door in frustration. "That means he's probably already long gone. _Damn!_ "

John looked at him sharply. He seemed...angry. "Is that all you care about?" he demanded.

Sherlock blinked in confusion. "Well, what else is there?"

John huffed and sat back in his seat. "Oh, nothing. Except maybe your bloody _life_ , Sherlock!"

Sherlock was about to ask what that meant, but then he got distracted as Lestrade texted him back, and he got wrapped up in directing him. He knew it was in vain, but he had to try at least.

They arrived at Baker Street and went upstairs. John slammed the door shut behind him. Sherlock looked at him, trying to deduce his ire. "What is the matter with you?"

"Let me see," ordered John.

"See...what?" Sherlock inquired as John turned him around. John inspected the back of his coat, where the bullet had gone through. John breathed angrily. "Too close, Sherlock. Too damn close."

"It's just a bullet, John. Believe me, _I've survived a lot worse_ ," Sherlock said, annoyed, as he pulled off his Belstaff and scarf, tossing them haphazardly on the couch.

"That's the point!" John shouted, seething. "You're always throwing yourself into danger! Do you not care at all about your own life?!"

"Well that's rich, coming from the ex-army adrenaline junkie!" Sherlock sniped back.

"This isn't about me. I'm not _reckless_ like you! You have got to start being more careful, Sherlock! You take suicide pills and run out in front of buses and _throw yourself off buildings_ and confront insane murderers, and _why?_ To be clever? Because you've got some hero complex? One of these days, you're _really_ going to wind up dead!"

"Well, _so_?" Sherlock snapped. "Who cares?!"

"People! People care! People _need_ you!"

"People need crime stopped."

"Well, _I_ need you, and I can't lose you again!" John screamed in his face.

Sherlock was taken by surprise. John looked shocked as well, as if that hadn't meant to slip out.

Sherlock cautiously opened his mouth. "John-"

John surged forward and kissed him.

Sherlock was stunned, just standing there stock still as John kissed him. Finally his eyes fluttered shut, and he kissed John back.

Sherlock knew it was wrong. Every instinct was telling him to back off, push John away and send him home to his wife. But he just wanted this so badly. He kissed John even harder, pulling him as close as physically possible. It wasn't soft, or sweet, but it was desperate, full of pent up longing and passion.

Finally they had to break off for air. But they were afraid to stop, to let reality in and end the moment. John insistently trailed his lips along Sherlock's jawline, making the consulting detective gasp as his skin tingled with temptation.

“Sherlock,” John breathed, erratically pressing kisses to the detective’s slender neck. “God, how I want you.”

“John,” Sherlock whimpered. “John…”

“Please. Please, Sherlock…I need you. Please…”

Sherlock looked into his best friend’s eyes. His very _married_ best friend. His best friend who was kind and handsome and brave and clever and wonderful and everything to him. His best friend who he had been so terribly in love with for so very long.

Sherlock could see that John was going to pull him to that bed in approximately 3.4 seconds, because they both knew they were too weak to refuse. He was going to hate himself after it was over, regardless, but he would hate himself even more if he was the one to start it. Sherlock couldn't let that happen. Sherlock couldn't let John be upset. Sherlock had to lessen his misery in anyway he could. Sherlock had to be the one. Sherlock had to seduce _him_.

Sherlock opened his mouth and began to sing. “ _Kiss me too fiercely, hold me too tight. I need help believing you’re with me tonight._ ” His eyes fluttered shut as John began mouthing slowly along his jaw again, his head tipping back as pleasure coursed through his nerves. " _My wildest dreamings could not foresee lying beside you…with you wanting me. And just for this moment…as long as you’re mine_.” Sherlock took John’s hand, slowly leading him to his bedroom. “ _I’ve lost all resistance and crossed some borderline. And if it turns out it’s over too fast…I’ll make every last moment last…as long as you’re mine._ ”

“ _Maybe I’m brainless, maybe I’m wise_ ,” John sang as they crawled onto the bed together. “ _But you’ve got me seeing through different eyes_.” Sherlock began shyly unbuttoning his shirt, running his musician’s hands over John’s torso. He leaned forward and kissed his chest, and John stroked his hair encouragingly. “ _Somehow I’ve fallen under your spell…and somehow, I’m feeling…it’s ‘up’ that I fell!_ ”

Sherlock looked up at him sharply, eyes wide, blushing at the double entendre. John, grinning, stroked his face. “ _Every moment_ ,” they sang simultaneously, “ _as long as you’re mine. I’ll wake up my body…and make up for lost time._ ”

“ _Say there’s no future_ ,” John added, pulling Sherlock onto his lap, his long legs straddling John’s waist, taking his shirt off of him. “ _For us as a pair…_ ”

Sherlock joined with him. “ _And though…I may know…I don’t care…just for this moment. As long as you’re mine. Come be how you want to, and see how bright we shine. Borrow the moonlight until it is through. And know I’ll be here holding you. As long as you’re mine…_ ”

John laid Sherlock on his back, kissing down his chest, undoing the button of his trousers…suddenly Sherlock whimpered.

John looked up in surprise from where he was nuzzling. “What is it?” he asked.

“It’s just…for the first time…I feel…” Sherlock bit his lip shyly.

John listened patiently.

Sherlock smiled, blushing. “ _Freak_ -y”

John grinned. He crawled up Sherlock’s body and deeply kissed him.

_I am despicable. I will burn in hell next to James Moriarty and Charles Magnussen for all of eternity for everything I've done. But let me have this. Let me have this taste of heaven just once._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used:  
> -"Cell Block Tango" from Chicago  
> -"As Long As You're Mine" from Wicked


	6. Half Of My Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lovesick John, moar pining Sherlock (noooe), and Mary the Fucking Psychopath™.
> 
> (I think Mary does love John, in her own way, but it's more like how Moriarty was in love with Sherlock: possessively and selfishly. She's manipulative and controlling. Plus she's not the least bit nice. Why did John marry her again?)

> _ I was made to believe I'd never love somebody else. I made a plan, stay the man who can only love himself. Lonely was the song I sang, 'till the day you came. Showing me another way and all that my love can bring _ . -“Half Of My Heart” by John Mayer

Sherlock was asleep, cradled in John’s arms. Never had the army doctor seen the consulting detective so relaxed, so at peace, so  _ content _ . So angelic. So beautiful.

John knew he had done wrong by Mary. Yes, they had their issues - shooting his best friend came to mind - yes, she did turn out to be a psycho assassin, but unfortunately, till death (or least, till  _ divorce _ ) did they part, she was his wife. John’s heart may belong to Sherlock, but the rest of him belonged to her. But he couldn’t help but feel that his heart was finally okay. John had been through so damn much…but Sherlock. Sherlock put him back together again.

“ _ Something in the way he moves _ ,” John began to softly sing. “ _ Attracts me like no other lover. Something in the way he woos me. I don’t wanna leave him now. You know I believe, and how. _ ” John, happy but troubled, looked down at the peacefully sleeping detective and pushed his curly fringe away from his face. Sherlock’s cupid-bow lips turned up into a smile, feeling John touch him while he dreamt. “ _ Somewhere in his smile, he knows…that I don’t need no other lover. Something in his style that shows me. I don’t wanna leave him now. You know I believe, and how… _ ” John, knowing it was time to go back to his wife and his loveless marriage, sighed and carefully extracted himself from Sherlock’s grasp, wishing for all the world he could stay.

John’s mind on what would happen next, to him, to Sherlock, to Mary, all of them; he gathered up his clothes and dressed himself. “ _ You’re askin’ me, will my love grow? I don’t know, I don’t know. You stick around and it may show. I don’t know, I don’t know… _ ”

Once John was dressed, he slipped a folded note into Sherlock’s hand, careful not to wake him. Then he tenderly kissed his forehead and let himself out.

John caught the tube to the stop near his flat. He sat on the bench, watching the lights in the dark tunnel whiz by sporadically, and it reminded him of Sherlock’s eyes, how they shone so brightly, how they could light up the darkness, like stars on a moonless night. “ _ Something in the way he knows…and all I have to do is think of him. Something in the things he shows me. I don’t wanna leave him now. You know I believe, and how… _ ”

The subway finally arrived, and John, with a heavy heart, walked home. No, just the place he lived. Home was 221B Baker Street. With Sherlock. No substitutions.

It had begun to rain. John groaned and popped his collar.

Mary was waiting in the living room when he came in. “That took longer than I expected. Sherlock kept you out late,” she said without even a hello as John was hanging his wet coat on the hook by the door.

“Yeah, well…crime never rests, and neither does he.” John sighed.

Mary was glaring at him.

John didn’t particularly care what was bothering her. She was always pissed at him about something these days. “I’m going to bed," he said. "It’s been a long day.”

Mary nodded. “Right.”

John exited the living room, with not so much as a “goodnight”.

What was sad was, this was a normal night for them.

Once John was gone, Mary’s resolve broke, and she threw herself on the couch. Her face felt hot, her nose and the corners of her eyes tingled. She  _ knew _ , she knew where he had been.

John had stopped loving her shortly after their wedding, that was obvious to even the casual observer. She had tried to change, she honestly had. She was going to hang up her gun holster and be the ideal homemaker. She thought that maybe even the baby might attract John enough to stay, if not herself. But she knew: fucking  _ Sherlock _ had his talons in John. He’d loved him before Sherlock had jumped from the roof of Bart’s, and that love had never died out in the two years he was gone.

Mary sniffed hard, refusing to cry. “ _ Don’t wish. Don’t start. Wishing only wounds the heart. There’s a man I know. He loves him so…I’m not that boy… _ ”

* * *

Sherlock gradually awoke to the sound of falling rain. He didn’t feel John’s warm body pressed against his. Confused, he opened his eyes. It was dark outside, barely any light in the room at all. Shivering, Sherlock reached to pull the covers closer, then noticed there was a piece of paper in his hand.

Sitting up, Sherlock fumbled for the lamp string. He unfolded the paper and recognized John’s small, neat handwriting, leaning to the right, following the slant of his dominant left hand.

_ Decided to let you sleep. Had to leave. Mary’ll be waiting. I’m sorry. _

Sherlock's head hung. Well, it wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected this. John did have to go back to  _ her _ some time. But he wished with all his heart John could've stayed. Could've been his, just a bit longer. _Selfish_ , he chided himself. _You've had more than your share. You didn't deserve any of him in the first place._

Sherlock folded in on himself, bringing his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. He looked out the window at the raindrops streaming down the glass.

“ _ On my own…pretending he’s beside me. All alone, I walk with him till morning. In the darkness, I feel his arms around me _ .” Sherlock shut his eyes, hugging himself, imagining it was John holding him in his strong arms. “ _ And when I lose my way, I close my eyes, and he has found me _ .”

Sherlock sunk into his mind palace, constructing a dark drizzly street like the one outside, but with no people or cars or life at all. Just him. And John. John, who managed to look devastatingly beautiful even when dotted with water droplets. Mind Palace John, his eyes twinkling like always, smiled up at him as if Sherlock were the only person in the world.

“ _ In the rain, the pavement shines like silver. All the lights are misty in the river. In the darkness, the trees are full of starlight, and all I see is him and me forever and forever _ .”

John took his hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the back of it, and held it as they walked down the quiet street together. Sherlock smiled, then became sad again when he remember he was only pretending. “ _ And I know, it’s only in my mind - that I’m talking to myself, and not to him. And although I know that he is blind…still I say…there’s a way for us. I love him, but when the night is over, he is gone. The river’s just a river. Without him, the world around me changes. The trees are bare and everywhere, the streets are full of strangers. _ ”

John and the street scene disappeared, and Sherlock was his bedroom again, by himself. A teardrop leaked down his cheek. “ _ I love him, but everyday I’m learning: all my life, I’ve only been pretending. Without me, his world will go on turning; a world that’s full of happiness that I have never known… _ ”

Sherlock, streams of salt running down his face, lay his cheek on the pillow, determined to go back to sleep, to numb this pain. “ _ I love him _ ,” he whispered. “ _ I love him…I love him. But only on my own… _ ” He closed his eyes and commanded his mind into unconsciousness.

* * *

Mary was still on the couch, holding in the tears. She heard a soft, self-satisfied chuckle beside her and looked up. 

Sherlock had appeared to her, sitting beside her on the couch. His clothes were bedraggled and abused, and there were faint fuschia marks decorating his neck. He glowed like a man who’d just been rogered six ways from Sunday. He looked debauched and smug as all get out.  _ It finally happened _ , he bragged, running his fingers through his sex-mussed hair. _ You always knew it would. John loves me. He always has. You were just keeping my seat warm till I got back. You’re  _ _ nothing _ _ to him. _

Mary clenched her fists. She was shaking slightly. “Shut. Up,” she seethed.

_ Come on,  _ _ Mrs. Watson _ , mocked Hallucination Sherlock. _ Are you going to give in that easily? Just sit here and snivel as I steal your husband? _ He laughed haughtily, inspecting his fingernails. _ I guess the famed Black Widow isn’t all that fearsome after all. _

Mary glared at him, her gaze burning enough to melt metal. “Oh, you’ll see how fearsome I can be. You, and John.”

_ I wouldn’t know _ , yawned Sherlock, bored.  _ I’m just in your imagination. _ He carefully stood up from the couch and stretch his muscles.  _ God, I’m sore. I’m sure I’ll be walking with a limp tomorrow. John’s quite passionate...when he’s with the right person. _ With a last smirk, the apparition sauntered from the room and ceased to be.

Mary sat alone, stewing in her emotions. “ _ No good deed goes unpunished _ ,” she quietly sang. “ _ No act of charity goes unresented. No good deed goes unpunished; that’s my new creed. _ ” She angrily crescendoed. _ “My road of good intentions led where such roads always lead…no good deed goes unpunished! _ ” She choked on a bout of tears threatening to emerge, but forced them back down. “ _ One question haunts and hurts, too much, too much to mention: was I really seeking good? Or just seeking attention? Is that all good deeds are when looked with an ice-cold eye? If that’s all good deeds are…maybe that’s the reason why…no good deed goes unpunished. All helpful urges should be circumvented. No good deed goes unpunished! Sure, I meant well, well look at what well-meant did…alright, enough, so be it! So be it then. I promise no good deed will I attempt to do again…ever again! No good deed will I do…again! _ ”

Determined, Mary got up and strode away to make plans. 

* * *

In the rainy night, a package was shoved through the mail slot of 221B Baker Street. It simply said,  _ S. Holmes. _ There was no return address.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs used:  
> -"Something" by the Beatles (specifically, the Jim Sturgess version from Across The Universe)  
> -"I'm Not That Girl" from Wicked  
> -"On My Own" from Les Miserables  
> -"No Good Deed" from Wicked


	7. Bad Case (Of Loving You)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, the actual plot. (*Mrs. Hudson comes in, saying, "Did you two have a little domestic?"*)

> _Doctor, doctor, gimme the news; I got a bad case of lovin' you. No pill's gonna cure my ill. I've got a bad case of lovin' you._ -“Bad Case Of Loving You” by Robert Palmer

John was by himself - Mary was off with some friends, showing off the baby. He hadn’t heard from Sherlock in three days. But then, he was too cowardly to go by Baker Street. Or even pick up the phone.

John sighed and rubbed his face, worrying, worrying, worrying...about everything. “ _I hadn’t slept in a week, I was weak, I was awake; you’ve never seen an army doctor more in need of a break. Longing for the old life I led with Sherlock - we fell together while I was falling apart. So I agreed to take the case and we went back to his place...I looked into his eyes and old feelings started to rise. I should have headed home; then he turned red, he led me to his bed, let his legs spread and said: ‘stay?’ That’s when I began to pray: Lord, show me how to say no to this. I don’t know how to say no to this. But my God, he looked so flawless. And his body was saying, ‘hell yes’. Lord, show me how to say no to this, I don’t know how to say no to this. In my mind, I was tryin’ to go; then his mouth was on mine and I couldn’t say no..._ ”

There came a sharp rapping of knuckles on his front door. John got up at once and went to the door. On his doorstep, he found his ex-landlady, looking frazzled and upset. "Mrs. Hudson, what's wrong?" John inquired with immediate concern.

“John, please, I’m at my wits’ end!” said Mrs. Hudson, looking close to tears. “You’ve got to come with me to Baker Street, I don’t know how much longer he’s going to last! He won’t eat, he doesn’t sleep-”

“Mrs. Hudson, is there something wrong with Sherlock?” John asked, his blood going cold.

Mrs. Hudson broke down. “I’ve never seen him like this, he’s so _sick_ , he’s only getting worse...I’m not sure he’ll make it through the night,” she blubbered into her hankie. “He won’t let me get a doctor, he’ll only see you, John, _please_ -”

But John was already pulling on his coat. “Come on,” he said, taking her wrist and coaxing her to the street to get into the cab.

On the ride to Baker Street, John was silent, his mind racing in a panic. This was unreal. Hadn’t John seen Sherlock only three days ago? He was hale and hearty, running after criminals - they’d made love-

 _I lost you once, you arrogant dickhead_ , thought John furiously. _I’ll be damned if I lose you again!_

Once they arrived at Baker Street, John wasted no time. He charged up the stairs and burst into Sherlock's room. The detective was lying right _where_ John had left him three days ago, but certainly not _how_ he'd left him.

"Hello, John," Sherlock weakly greeted him.

"Jesus Christ," John breathed, leaning against the bedroom door for support. Sherlock was pale, paler than usual, pale as dea... _No! I am not thinking about that word!_ He was sweating - most likely due to the warm air blowing through the open window. His lips were dry; it was evident to John that he was severely dehydrated. A dark dusting of stubble had sprouted on his face from neglect to shave - _he's too weak to get out of bed to shave_ , John realized in mild horror. His eyes were bloodshot, his heterochromatic irises a bleak grey and drained of Sherlock's normal vivacity, and ringed with deep indigo. They seemed to bulge out of their sockets. His cheeks were cheekboney-er and seemed to be caving in on themselves, as if Sherlock had lost a frightening amount of weight all of a sudden. Even his hair seemed to be ill, its playful curliness having wilted into a stringy, torpid mop falling down his forehead. It was like the life was being sucked from him little by little. John had never seen such a sight.

John instinctively made to go toward him, but Sherlock shouted hoarsely at him, " _No_ _!_ Stay away from me."

"Sherlock, you're wasting away to nothing," John choked.

"I'm highly contagious; stay over there or you'll end up like me. I assure you, this is much worse than a bullet to the shoulder."

"At least let me bring you some water-"

"Can't," said Sherlock, closing his eyes, as if fighting off nausea. "Just the mention of anything comestible makes me sick to my stomach."

"How did this happen?" John asked, feeling useless. He wanted nothing more than to go over there and pull Sherlock into his arms, comfort him, brush the hair from his face so he could soothingly kiss his heated forehead.

"It was-" Sherlock paused, listening for something. John heard voices - Mrs. Hudson and a male cadence he could not place - and footsteps approaching. "I can't explain now," said Sherlock quickly. "I need you to get into my closet and take note of everything you're about to hear."

"What?"

"Now, John. Please!"

"I'm not hiding in your closet!"

The footsteps were getting closer. "John, I'm begging you. I'll go to a hospital, I'll do whatever you want, but it is _vital_ that you get in my closet this instant and don't come out until I say so!"

"Sherlock-"

"Please." Sherlock was barely audible. "If you lo-...if you care about me at all. Quickly, John!"

The people outside were almost upon them. John sighed in disgust and shut himself in Sherlock's closet just as the bedroom door creaked open. It was dark, and Sherlock's soft silk and cotton button ups curtained his face. They smelled like him. John's heart ached.

 _If I don't fix him, this will be the last trace of Sherlock Holmes I have left_ , the army doctor thought with vague horror. He'd been through it before. When Sherlock had fallen from Bart's, John had spent hours in Sherlock's room, smelling his late flatmate's clothes, burying his face in his pillows and bedsheets, crying all over them, trying to preserve the memories of the greatest man he'd ever known through sensory imprint... _I can't go through this again!_

John, in a twisted sense, was reminded of the time his secondary school had put on _Cyrano de Bergerac_. And at the end, as Cyrano was dying, the heroine bitterly wept: "I never loved but one man in my life, and I have lost him... twice!" _I feel you, Roxanne. This is fucking pants. Let's get this bullshit over with so I can get that idiot some bloody treatment!_

"Where's John gone?" John heard Mrs. Hudson ask.

"Bathroom. He's searching my medicine cabinet."

"Oh, dear, I hope he can help you. If not, maybe this gentleman can. He says he's a specialist, that you called for him?"

"I did. Thank you for your expediency, Mister Smith."

"It was no trouble," said a new voice, a man.

"Mrs. Hudson, would you mind leaving us alone?" Sherlock asked.

"Of course. Ring if you need something?"

"I might later. Thank you."

John heard Mrs. Hudson's lithe footsteps leave the room and Sherlock's door shut again. So now it was Sherlock and this Smith guy alone.

"Before my demise, I'd like to express my admiration for your work. This disease is a masterpiece."

"My requiem mass, you might say," said Smith, and John could hear the smirk in his tone.

"Oh, a Mozart reference. A music fan, are we?"

"I love music. That's why I designed my toxin the way I did."

"Not the one that's killing me at the moment: the toxin you used to kill your nephew Victor Savage. The one you contaminated London's tea supply with."

"You flatter me, Mr. Holmes. It was hardly London's _whole_ tea supply."

"It was enough. Enough to cause a stir. But then that is what you wanted, isn't it."

"I wanted to see what my concoction would do to an uncontrolled group."

"What about the controlled group?"

"I deposited him in the Thames."

"Ah."

John's fists curled. His jaw clenched. But even despite his ire, John couldn't help but be fiercely proud of his genius.  _You solved the case, Sherlock. I see now: you wanted me here so I could be a witness against this bastard. But Goddammit, if I have to go to your funeral_ _again_ _because of all this, I'll never forgive you!_

"How are you feeling?" Smith asked, obviously satisfied with himself.

"Run down, to be honest. Am I supposed to ache?"

"Wanted to make it as unpleasant as possible."

"Goal achieved. So you admit it then. You killed Savage, infected several others with the musical disease, and now..." Sherlock gave a thick, hoarse cough. John swallowed. "You've killed me."

"S'good, innit?"

"As I said: I'm impressed. Oh, you're not 'steal the crown jewels and force me off a building' impressive, but you've got potential, I'll give you that."

"Thank you."

"Could you do me a favor?"

"What?"

"Pass me my violin case. It's on top of my bureau."

"...why?"

"A dying man's last wish? I too, am a lover of music, Culverton Smith."

There was a hesitation from Smith, then some shuffling footsteps over to the bureau, then toward Sherlock's bed.

"Thank you," said Sherlock. After a moment, John heard sad, sweet music singing from the violin. (He didn't know it, but Sherlock was playing Mozart's _The Requiem Mass in D minor_ , the very piece he and Smith had been conversing over.)

" _Ah_ ," sighed Smith, falling entranced as everyone - especially John - did when they heard Sherlock play. "No. Thank you. It's a shame I have to take such a talent from the world."

"I feel the same way. Your prowess in biochemistry were wasted on the tea industry."

"Don't worry. All those bloodthirsty countries: China, Iraq, the States, even our beloved country of jolly old England - they'll all pay quite handsomely for a piece of what I've got - the perfect weapon: an invisible killer."

"No, you misunderstood. I meant your genius is going to be wasted in prison." Sherlock's voice gained strength, coming into its normal rich timber. _What_ _?_ John thought, bewildered.

John could make out heavy footfalls coming into 221B Baker Street. The door to Sherlock's bedroom burst open, and John heard Lestrade call out, " _Police!_ "

"Here's your man, Gabriel. Culverton Smith. The man behind the musical epidemic and the murder of one Victor Savage. Not to mention the attempted murder of Sherlock Holmes."

John heard clinking handcuffs. "What is the meaning of this?" demanded Smith.

"Inspector, if you need proof, you may have Molly Hooper inspect the concealed blade in the box sitting on my bureau which was sent to me by our friend here - _careful_ _!_ Pick it up from the sides. One false move and you'll contract the dread disease this lunatic concocted for me."

"Culverton Smith, you are under arrest for murder, attempted murder, and acts of terrorism. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you..." Lestrade's tirade faded out as he led the killer out into the street.

"Okay, this is all great and all, Sherlock, but I'm going to need your statement tomorrow," said Sergeant Sally Donovan's voice. "But you know this guy's probably going to walk free unless we get a confession from him."

"He's already confessed. John can attest to - oh, John! I forgot he was here. John, you can come out now."

John opened the door and stepped into the bedroom, blinking into the bright lights. Sally snorted at the sight of him. "Finally come out of the closet, have we?"

"Shut up, Sally," said John. He looked at Sherlock sharply. Sherlock was sitting up in bed, still looking a little peaked, but no longer like he was awaiting the Grim Reaper to take him away. "So you're not actually sick then."

"That's a matter of opinion," muttered Sally under her breath as she left. They were alone again.

Sherlock yawned. "I'm fine. Although I could use a bite to eat and a few hours' sleep. I haven't done either for the past three days."

John's mouth dropped open. "What?! Why?"

"Had to look like I was on my death bed so Smith would buy the act. Of course I had a little help from Mrs. Hudson's bottle of talcum powder." Sherlock rubbed his face with his sheets, and he pulled them away, John could see his complexion was slightly darker. "You have questions, I presume."

"Yeah. I-"

"As I'm sure you inferred from our conversation, I solved the case of Victor Savage's murder. It was his uncle, Culverton Smith. He's a biochemist, worked at Savage Industries maintaining hygiene. But he got bored, vengeful at the fact that his genius was being taken for granted. So he decided to run a little experiment. He concocted a toxin that makes the consumer want to burst into spontaneous bouts of song and dance, which has drugged us all. His nephew, a junior executive for the company, discovered his acts and tried to put out a recall, but Smith murdered him. When Smith learned I was onto him, he sent me a package: a small wooden box with a concealed blade, drugged with a deadly germ to kill me as well. I feigned illness to make him think he'd won, then set up this trap to have him arrested. The signal for Lestrade and his men to come and get him was the sound of my violin."

"So if you weren't actually sick, why did you bark at me to stay away from you?"

"You're a doctor, John, and a brilliant man at that. I knew at close proximity you could easily diagnose that I was not dying. You needed to believe me."

"Why did I need to believe you?" John said in disbelief. "Why wouldn't you just tell me the truth?"

"I..." Sherlock didn't seem to have an answer.

John grew frustrated. "You always do this. You're always shutting me out. When you faced Moriarty on the roof, you pushed me away, and I lost you, for two years!"

"John!" Sherlock seemed surprise.

"I'm supposed to be your best friend!" John said. "Why are you always keeping secrets from me? Do you just not care about me at all?"

Sherlock glared at him. "If that's what you think, than you're even an bigger idiot that I thought!"

"Oh, I'm an idiot now?! Why did you ever move in with me then? Or make me your partner? Or..." John swallowed. " _Sleep with me_ ," he said.

Sherlock tensed up. "Because I-...I-..." He huffed and threw his covers over his head. "Forget it," he spat at John. "I was clearly a mistake to you. Go back to your _wife_ , John.

John wanted to go over and hold him. Sherlock was holding something back, which very much unlike him. But he was just so damn tired of being locked out by the consulting detective. "Fine. That's fine." John turned to leave. He paused, his hand on the doorknob. "You better fucking eat something!" he growled at the lump under the covers. He stomped outside and slammed the door shut. It didn't make him feel any better.

 _Dammit, Sherlock. All I've ever wanted is to help you and take care of you. I just want to lo-_ John shook his head. That was dangerous thinking.

"John? What was all that hullabaloo?" Mrs. Hudson asked when the good doctor came downstairs.

"Sherlock's going to be fine," he said. "Just...make sure he gets some food, and rest. Please."

Mrs. Hudson sighed in relief. "I thought for sure he was dying. Did I see the police leading that scientist fella away?"

"Yeah. He was a bad man. Take care of Sherlock for me. Please."

Mrs. Hudson nodded. "Of course, dear. Goodnight."

John tried to smile at her, and let himself out into the night.

John walked the streets for a while, not really wanting to go home. What he wanted, more than anything, was to go running back to Baker Street and be with Sherlock. No matter how infuriating the bastard could be. John sighed. He needed a drink.

> _Meet me at the pub? -John_
> 
> _Sure. Get off in 20 minutes. What's the occasion? -GL_
> 
> _Just need to get away from Mary and Sherlock for a while. -John_
> 
> _Understood. See you soon. -GL_
> 
> _Thank you. -John_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used (actually not much singing in this chapter):  
> -"Say No To This" from Hamilton


	8. Gone, Gone, Gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some bro time between John and Lestrade - John comes to a decision.

>   
> _You're my backbone, you're my cornerstone, you're my crutch when my legs stop moving. You're my headstart, you're my rugged heart, you're the pulse that I've always needed; like a drum baby don't stop beating._ -"Gone, Gone, Gone" by Phillip Phillips

Lestrade sighed, satisfied, and clinked his mug against John's. "Here's to another well solved case."

"Yeah. Glad that crazy bastard's in custody," John agreed. "D'you know how long we're gonna be infected with this crap?"

"Mycroft said, now that they've managed to recall all the contaminated tea bags, it should only be a couple more days before it flushes out of our systems," Lestrade replied. "Good thing, too. I haven't lived down coming into the office one morning croonin' 'Good Mornin' from _Singing In The Rain_ at the top of my lungs." Lestrade shook his head. "But that isn't why you called me out tonight, is it, me lad." Lestrade turned a knowing eye to John.

John sighed and looked at his lap. "How did you guess."

Lestrade ruefully chuckled. "You pick up a few tricks about readin' people when you work with the great Sherlock Holmes. 'Sides, it don't take the consulting detective to see that you're heartsick about somethin'."

John shook his head tiredly. "Everything is so fucked, Greg. You have no idea what my life's come to."

"Hmm. Well, I can probably guess: does it have something to do with you bein' madly in love with a certain tall brunette genius?"

John looked up in surprise. "You _know?_ " he exclaimed, aghast.

Lestrade barked a laugh. "What, with the way you two're always makin' sheep's eyes at each other from across the crime scene? Or the way you killed that cabbie after only one night o' knowin' him?"

John grew flustered. "I-I don't know what you-"

"Ah, save it. I've always known it was you. Calm down, Johnny boy, your secret's safe with me. I'm not totally blind, no matter what Sherlock says. I could tell you killed the cabbie to save Sherlock, just like I could tell you two were completely gone on each other from the very first night."

John's cheeks were burning. "Does anyone else know how I feel about him?"

"Ah, not that many people...just anyone with _eyes_."

John groaned. He felt like banging his head against the bar. "Fuck. _Fuck_. He's right. I am an idiot...look, if he knew how I felt about him, why did he let me go through with getting married?"

"Because Sherlock loves you more than I've ever seen anyone ever love anything," said Lestrade in a very serious voice. "He thought it was what was best for you. What would make you happy."

"But I'm _not_ happy," John said. "That's the problem. I should be, shouldn't I? I've got a beautiful, perfect daughter..." He trailed off, unable to say that he was satisfied with his wife.

"It's just her mum you're not in love with," Lestrade finished sympathetically.

John felt miserable. "I knew what I felt for Mary was just...me trying to move on from Sherlock. I thought I could grow to love her, eventually. I liked her a lot - I thought she was everything I wanted, or thought I wanted. Then Sherlock came back, and it complicated everything, but he still didn't act like he wanted me, so I tried to move past him. But then it turned out Mary was a fucking psychopath...so now I'm trapped in this loveless marriage when I know I could be with the person I really want! God, I'm such an... _idiot!_ "

Lestrade sighed. "Boy. I _wish_ I was in your shoes. If the love of _my_ life was pining for me as hard as I was for them, I know I wouldn't sit around in a bar moping. I'd leave my spouse and go to them right this instant, damn the consequences."

"Hah! You make it sound so easy."

"Okay, maybe it's not. But still...at least you know someone loves you." Lestrade sighed. "I'm all alone."

"Ahh, don't say that," said John, patting his back. "There's someone out there for you."

"Oh, there is..." Lestrade looked off dreamily. The barkeep came by and took up their empty beer mugs. "She's this gorgeous little thing. Long chestnut hair. Chocolate colored eyes. The cutest little button nose you've ever seen." The inspector laughed shyly. "Brilliant too, and sweet enough to give you diabetes. But she's never taken notice of an ol' rough-around-the-edges bloke like me. She seems to like the prim fellas...especially Sherlock."

"You like Molly," John realized. "You have a crush on Molly Hooper."

"Never really occurred to me before," Lestrade admitted, nodding. "She was...The Girl In The Lab Coat for as long I could remember. Then one day, we're at a Christmas party at Baker Street, and she's... _Molly_." Lestrade shook his head. "Like I said...never even looked my way."

"Have you ever asked her out?" John asked.

"Well...not in so many words."

"You should!" John insisted. "Anybody would be lucky to go out with you. I bet she'd be thrilled."

Lestrade shook his head. "I can't. She's too good for me. Like I said, I'm not her type."

John sighed dejectedly. "What a miserable pair we are."

"Tonight, we are the Lonely Hearts' Club."

The barkeep came back by and set two fresh mugs in front of them. In synchronization, the men picked up their glasses, clinked them together, declaring " _Cheers_ ," and chugged some of the liquid comfort.

Lestrade looked at John and began to sing. " _What would you think if I sang out of tune, would you stand up and walk out on me? Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song, and I'll try not to sing out of key. Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends. Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends. Mm, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends._ "

John sighed and resignedly joined in. " _What do I when my love is away?_ "

" _Does it worry you to be alone?_ " Lestrade, and the rest of the bar, seemed to ask him.

" _How do I feel by the end of the day?_ " Lestrade morosely asked his beer.

" _Are you sad because you're on your own?_ " John and the other patrons sympathized.

" _No..._ "

" _I get by with a little help from my friends_ ," John and Lestrade commiserated together. " _Get high with a little help from my friends. Mm, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends._ "

" _Do you need anybody?_ " the bar patrons asked the lonely inspector.

" _I just need someone to love_ ," Lestrade replied.

" _Could it be anybody?_ "

Lestrade just shook his head sadly. " _I want somebody to love._ "

The whole bar turned to John. " _Would you believe in a love at first sight?_ " they asked him.

John sighed, thinking of that fateful day Mike Stamford had brought him to Bart's. " _Yes, I'm certain that it happens all the time._ "

" _What do you see when you turn out the light?_ "

" _I can't tell you_ ," John answered, blushing, " _but I know it's mine._ "

" _Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends_ ," the bar chorused, a jovially sad mob of semi-drunks. " _Get high with a little help from my friends. Oh, I'm gonna try with a little help from my friends..._ "

As the patrons continued with their song, John chuckled good naturedly, laid some money on the table, patted Lestrade on the back once more, and went out into the night, singing longingly under his breath, " _Yes, I get bi with a little help with my friends, with a little help from my friends..._ "*

Oh, what was he going to do? He could either A) leave Mary and profess his undying devotion to Sherlock and beg him to take him back, or B) stay with his wife and never see Sherlock again. And that just couldn't happen. John needed Sherlock like air or water. He swam in the blood in John's veins, burned like a log in the fireplace of John's heart-

It struck John like Cupid's arrow, right through the gut. John _loved_ Sherlock. He was totally and completely consumed by the detective...

...and he couldn't stand not being with him one more day.

" _Comparisons are easily done once you've had a taste of perfection_ ," John sang, his heart full of regret. " _Like an apple hanging from a tree; I picked the ripest one, I still got the seed. You say move on, where do I go? I guess second best is all I will know...'cause when I'm with her, I am thinking of you. Thinking of you, what you would do if you were the one who was spending the night. I wish that I was looking into your...eyes._ "

John began walking down the street, lost in his own revelations. " _You're like an Indian summer in the middle of winter, like a hard candy with a surprise center. How do I get better once I've had the best. You said there's tons of fish in the water, so the waters I will test. She kissed my lips, I taste your mouth. She pulled in, I was disgusted with myself. 'Cause when I'm with her, I am thinking of you. Thinking of you. What you would do if you were the one who was spending the night. I wish that I was looking into...you're the best. And yes, I do regret...how I could let myself let you go. Oh now, now the lesson's learned. I touched, and I was burned. Oh I think you should know..._ "

John knew now what he was going to do. Come hell or high water...he was going to be with his Sherlock.

" _That when I'm with her, I am thinking of you. Thinking of you. What you would do if you were the one who was spending the night. Oh, I wish that I was looking into your...your eyes, looking into your eyes, looking into your eyes...oh, won't you walk through? And bust in the door and take me away? No more mistakes, 'cause in your eyes, I'd like to stay. Stay..._ "

John, scared, but determined, headed for his and Mary's house. First things first: he had to come clean to Mary.

But there was a terrible realization that met him when he arrived.

"Hello? Mary?" he called through the house. But there was no response. "What the hell?" he murmured.

He discovered, when he went in their bedroom, that all Mary's things had been packed up. "Oh, God..." John whispered, and jogged into the nursery.

John looked into his daughter's cradle, a horrible suspicion coming over him. Sure enough...Mary had taken the baby.

There was a slip of paper in the bottom of the baby's bed. John picked it up and frantically read it.

> _Maybe next time you'll think before you cheat. -M_

"Oh no," John moaned, sinking to the floor in desperation. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no..."

Mary and his daughter were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used:  
> -"With A Little Help From My Friends" by the Beatles  
> -"Thinking Of You" by Katy Perry (which doesn't sound like a typical Katy Perry song; it's quite tender and heartfelt)
> 
> *That was not a typo in that line ;D (I've always considered WaLHFMF John's theme song.)


	9. Landmine

> _And I suppose that it couldn't have helped things much to set this day in a whirlwind rush, after finding out the backseat changed our lives._ -"Landmine" by Train

Sherlock was woken abruptly by someone shaking his shoulder. He groggily opened his eyes, which immediately went to the alarm clock beside his bed. The glowing red numbers read:  **12:14 PM**. He'd only gotten about four hours of sleep. He looked up at his visitor in confusion. "John, what the hell-"

"Mary's taken the baby," said John coldly.

Sherlock was awake at once. "I'll get dressed. Tell me everything."

"I just can't believe she'd do this," said John as they were riding in a cab side by side twenty minutes later.

Sherlock, still gaunt from his "illness", stared straight forward, all dressed in his battle gear: his Belstaff and scarf. He was already thinking, planning, how they could locate the wayward Mrs. Watson. "This is _your_ wife we're talking about, John," he said flatly.

"...never mind, you're right. I can believe it."

Any other day, Sherlock would have smirked. But John's child was on the line. Today was no day for brevity.

John was fretting, staring out the cab window impatiently. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"Mycroft's. He lives just across from the Diogenes Club. He won't be happy to be woken up at this hour, but he can fellate a fat eclair for all I care. He'll be able to find them."

Mycroft was indeed quite put out when his younger brother pulled him out of bed. But once he'd heard their account, he was all business. "I'll get my people on it at once," he swore.

"She'll be out of England by now," Sherlock conjected aloud. "She could have absconded to China for all we know. There's no way to track her via GPS - she's too smart, she'll have destroyed her mobile."

"My staff is hacking the CCTV of every airport in London. John, when did she leave, what was the window of exit?" Mycroft interrogated.

"Erm...I dunno," said John, struggling to think.

"This is vital, John, you must try and think," insisted the eldest Holmes.

John squeezed his eyes shut, trying to recall the last time he'd seen his abominable wife. So much had happened today, he was upset, he couldn't think- "I...I don't...God, I don't know!"

"Mycroft, the man is has been traumatized, so will you kindly  _piss off_." Sherlock glared at him. "Why don't you go harass some of their neighbors, perhaps one of them spied her leaving."

Mycroft seemed a bit surprised at Sherlock's defensiveness of John, but nodded. "Yes. I will." He turned away and strode from the room.

John buried his face in his hands. "God, I'm so useless," he whispered.

"John, you're upset," Sherlock murmured, uncharacteristically consolary. "It's only natural-"

"What's only natural, for me to stand around like a  _idiot_ , seeing everything going on around me and not be able to do anything to stop it?" John growled. "I couldn't even help you catch Culverton Smith or find the cursed bread or whatever the hell it was in French-"

" _Le pain maudit_ ," Sherlock supplied. Then he gasped, suddenly remembering something. His heart swelled with love for the man sitting beside him. "John. That's it." After some hesitance, he cupped John's face and quickly dropped a kiss on his forehead. "Brilliant, clever, fantastic John, you did it!" Sherlock declared.

"Did what?" John inquired.

"France, John! She's gone to France!"

"She has? How d'you know?"

"When I was looking for the 'cursed bread', the link in the Savage case, the contaminated tea, I found several French language books hidden behind the flour in the cupboard of your kitchen. I thought it was odd at the time, but I was too focused on the case to dwell on it. You bringing up French just now reminded me of it. The books were fairly new; Mary must have been anticipating the two of you separating and planned to make off with the baby, not wanting to share her with you. The... _event_ that happened three days ago must have finally pushed her into action," Sherlock surmised.

"I didn't even know she knew," John admitted. "Looking back now, I guess she was acting kind of cold, but to be honest...we've been like that for a while now."

Sherlock swallowed, not knowing what to say to that. So he just said, "We have the jump on her. We'll find her. And get your daughter back. Tonight."

John looked at Sherlock. "I'm sorry. You must be exhausted, and here I am, dragging you into my problems."

Sherlock looked at his lap. "You must know by now that I would do anything for you, John," he mumbled.

John's hand reached into his lap and lightly took a hold of his. Sherlock looked up in surprise.

John was smiling at him, for the first time this evening. "I know," he whispered.

* * *

Thanks to Sherlock, Mycroft's people tracked Mary down to Marseille. By two in the morning, John and Sherlock were on Mycroft's private plane on their way there to apprehend her, along with some of Mycroft's men as backup.

They knew she was hiding out in a large, unused house on the edge of the city, the summer home of an old contact of hers. Sherlock urged the secret service to remain out of the way, to let them go in first to talk things out with Mary. Then he and John went inside.

The house was dark and quiet. "Let's split up. You search this floor, I'll look upstairs," Sherlock whispered. "Look out for Mary, look for the baby."

"Got it," whispered John. They parted ways.

Sherlock crept upstairs. He peered in every room, but there was no sign of life. Sherlock knew they had to be here, Mary's (supposed) transport was still parked outside.

Finally, at the end of a hallway, Sherlock found a nursery. In the bassinet by the window was John's infant daughter, sleeping peacefully.

Sherlock crept across the room. He reached into the crib and carefully picked up the baby. The child began to stir.

“Shh, shh,” Sherlock lulled the whimpering infant. “It’s alright. I’m going to take you to your father.”

 _Click_. “ _Put_. My daughter. _Down_.”

Sherlock slowly rotated. “Well, here we are again.”

Mary stared him down icily, the barrel of her gun aimed right at his heart. “I said put her down, Sherlock.”

“John just wants his child.”

“He should have thought of that before sleeping with you.”

“Your conflict is with me,” said Sherlock carefully. “I’ll stay away from John if that’s what you want. But don’t take away his _daughter_ , Mary.”

“Oh, quit calling me that! You and I both know Mary Morstan isn’t even my real name!”

“No, but ‘Mrs. Watson’ is,” Sherlock reminded her.

“That trick didn’t work on me the first time, Sherlock. But it doesn’t matter. I won’t be Mrs. Watson for very much longer.” She pulled a manila folder from her bag without lowering her gun or taking her eyes from Sherlock for a second. She dropped the file at his feet. “Divorce papers. I hoped I wouldn’t have to use them, but I’m not stupid. John hasn’t loved me for a long time. All they need is his signature.

“Now here’s what’s going to happen. You’re gonna put my baby down. And then, I’m gonna kill you. And this time, Sherlock, I promise you, there’ll be no trip to the hospital – they’ll be driving you straight to the morgue. And then my baby and I are going far, far away, to where even your dear brother couldn’t find us.” Mary opened her mouth and began to sing: “ _Here lies everything. The world I wanted at my feet. My victory’s complete. So hail to the queen. Arise and sing…so your world’s benign? So you think justice has a voice? And we all have a choice? Well, now your world is mine. And I am fine…now the nightmare’s real. Now that the Black Widow is here. To make you quake with fear. To make the whole world kneel…_ ” Mary’s finger tightened on the trigger.

Sherlock carefully put John’s daughter in her crib. “Mary-”

“ _And I won’t feel_ -”

A gunshot rang out, almost drowning out Mary’s final “- _a thing_.” Sherlock looked down but, surprisedly, saw no gunshot on his person.

Mary gasped, falling on the ground. She’d been shot in the back.

John lowered his gun, and hurried over to her, kicking the gun from her hand, then leant over to inspect her. Sherlock picked the wailing baby Watson back up and came over.

John looked up at him and answered Sherlock’s unspoken question. “She’ll live.” John looked down at Mary with cold hard hatred. “You’re not the only crack shot who answers to the name Watson.”

Sherlock gestured to the file on the floor. “Which reminds me. You may need those.”

“Come here, my little lamb,” said John, taking the baby from Sherlock. “It’s okay. Daddy’s here…” John looked up at Sherlock. “Mycroft’s people are on their way in.”

Sherlock nodded. He looked at Mary, doubled over on the ground. “Where’d you shoot her?”

“Dural sack of the base of the spine,” John replied. “Only about an inch above the coccyx. She’ll be paralyzed from the waist down.”

“Bit much, wouldn’t you say?” Sherlock asked timidly.

John glared at the assassin. “Not for the bitch who tried to take my daughter. Or kill my best friend. Not nearly enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used:  
> -"Everything You Ever" from Dr. Horrible's Sing-Along Blog


	10. Little Wonders

> _Let it go. Let it roll right off your shoulder. Don't you know, the hardest part is over? Let it in. Let your clarity define you in the end. We will only just remember how it feels. Our lives are made in these small hours, these little wonders, these twists and turns of fate. Time falls away. But these small hours, these small hours still remain._ -“Little Wonders” by Rob Thomas

As they loaded Mary into the ambulance, Mycroft's head agent, Harrington, gave them the stink-eye. “You couldn’t have done a _little_ cleaner job of it, Doctor Watson?”

John shrugged in a blasé fashion. “Call it self-defense. I don’t care. I’m taking my daughter home.”

Harrington sighed wearily. “Yeah, I think you better. Jesus, this is gonna be so much paperwork..."

Once they were on the plane back to England, Sherlock said to John, “It’s alright now. You can say what you really want.”

John shrugged. “There’s nothing to say.”

“John, she was your wife. The mother of your child. This isn’t some cab-driving, serial killing stranger, this was the woman you _loved._  I-I know I’m not good at…emotions. But I am your friend, John. There’s no one in the world that cares more about you than me. So if you have something to say, please say it. And if you don’t want to, that’s fine too. Just know that…I’m here.”

John looked at Sherlock, who was staring back at him in earnest.

“I’ll always be here,” Sherlock said softly. “If you want me.”

John stared at his sleeping daughter, whom he’d refused to let go of, except when the medics were checking her over, and even then he’d been within an arm’s distance. The moment they were done, she was back in John’s arms. He took a deep breath, then carefully held her out to Sherlock. “Will you hold her for a while, please? I feel like I’m about to tip over in a dead faint.”

“Of course,” said Sherlock.

John tried to smile at him. Then he leaned back in his seat and fell asleep almost immediately.

Sherlock stared at him for a long while, then down at the child when she started to wriggle in his arms about half an hour later. “Hello,” he said to her quietly.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Mary hadn’t much let Sherlock be around the baby. He hadn’t even seen her properly since she was born. She had grown some in the months that had passed since. She had John’s eyes, denim blue. Even the same twinkle.

“I’m Sherlock,” said the detective. “I’m…not very practiced at loving people. But I love your father very much. And if I am granted the privilege…I’d very much like to love you too.”

The baby blinked. Then, to Sherlock’s surprise, she raised her tiny hand and softly touched Sherlock’s face.

Sherlock held his breath, holding perfectly still, not daring to move.

After a moment, the little girl’s face scrunched up, as if she were about to cry.

“Oh no, no, please, don’t do that,” Sherlock begged, panicking. What had he done wrong? He thought frantically of that song that Myc used to sing to him to calm him down when he found him in the drug houses. “ _Come stop your crying, it will be alright. Just take my hand, hold it tight_.” Sherlock let the infant wrap her fingers tightly around his thumb. “ _I will protect you from all around you. I will be here, don’t you cry._ ”

The little Watson squeezed Sherlock’s thumb. She had a firm grip, also like her father. “ _For one so small, you seem so strong. My arms will hold you, keep you safe and warm._ ” Sherlock cuddled the child closer. She was gazing up at him, listening intently. “ _This bond between us can’t be broken. I will be here, don’t you cry. ‘Cause you’ll be in my heart. Yes, you’ll be in my heart. From this day on, now and forever more. You’ll be in my heart, no matter what they say. You’ll be here in my heart, always._ ”

“ _Why can’t they understand the way we feel?_ ” John’s voice surprised Sherlock, as he came to sit on the other side of him. Sherlock must’ve woken him up with his lullaby. John looked at the baby and sang, “ _They just don’t trust what they can’t explain. I know we’re different but, deep inside us, we’re that not different at all._ ”

Sherlock joined him in the chorus. “ _And you’ll be in my heart. Yes, you’ll be in my heart. From this day on, now and forever more. You’ll be in my heart, no matter what they say. You’ll be here in my heart, always._ ”

“ _Don’t listen to them_ ,” John crooned confidently. “ _What do they know? We need each other, to have, to hold. They’ll see in time…I know._ ”

“ _When destiny calls you, you must be strong_ ,” Sherlock input. “ _I may not be with you, but you’ve got to hold on. They’ll see in time. I know…we’ll show them together._ ”

John came back in, and together they sang, “ _Cause you’ll be in my heart. Believe me, you’ll be in my heart. I’ll be with you this day on, now and forever more. Oh, you’ll be in my heart, no matter what they say. You’ll be here in my heart…always, always. Just look over your shoulder…_ ”

“ _Just look over your shoulder._ ” “ _Just look over your shoulder_.” They alternated, then sang the final line together, “ _I’ll be there always._ ”

By the end of the song, Sherlock and John were staring at each other. The baby had fallen asleep during the second chorus.

“Sorry to wake you,” Sherlock murmured.

John shook his head. “It’s fine,” he breathed. “I liked your song. Good choice.”

Sherlock began to hand John his daughter, “Here, I’m sure you’d rather-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” said John, laying his head on Sherlock’s shoulder. “She seems to like being with you.”

Soon, John was back to sleep against him, and the baby was too. Sherlock blinked heavily several times, then, giving into the welcoming arms of slumber, he was drifting off as well, still clutching the baby protectively, his head leaning on John’s.

The stewardess came to check on them and found them all peacefully asleep. She smiled, going back to the cockpit, murmuring fondly to herself, “What a sweet family.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used:  
> -"You'll Be In My Heart" by Phil Collins (This is my favorite scene in the whole fic. ♡)
> 
> Yes, I'm posting the rest of the chapters today.


	11. What If

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sickeningly sweet cheesy happily ever after for all the good guys! (And none for Gretchen Wieners, bye.)

>   
> _What if we were made for each other? Born to become best friends and lovers? I wanna stay right here in this moment with you over and over and over again._ -“What If” by Colbie Caillat

“I thought you quit smoking,” said a voice.

Sherlock looked up to Molly and Lestrade coming up the sidewalk. He was standing by the stoop outside Baker Street. It was dawn, and they had just gotten home. “Old habits die hard,” he said, taking a deep drag.

“I guess you’d know all about that,” said Greg.

“Mycroft told us what happened with Mary...I can’t believe she-” Molly trailed off. She shook her head in disgust and stared at Sherlock. “John deserved better.”

“John deserves to be happy,” Sherlock quietly corrected, dropping his cigarette on the pavement and grounding it out with his shoe. “I hope he can find that.”

Molly gently squeezed his arm. “Maybe now he will.” She smiled knowingly at him.

The door to 221B opened and shut as John came out. “Mrs. Hudson’s watching the baby. She’s asleep for now. I hope she stays that way for a few hours. She’s in an unfamiliar place.”

“John, perhaps you’d ought to take her home,” Sherlock suggested, obviously downtrodden at the thought.

John shook his head firmly. “I _am_ home,” he insisted.

Sherlock smiled a little at that.

John looked at Molly and Greg. “Could you, er...give us a sec?”

“Of course.” Molly took Greg by the arm and gently led him away.

John sniffed the air...and frowned. “Dammit, Sherlock, have you been smoking?”

“Er...it was Garrison.”

John gave him an incredulous smile. Sherlock laughed guiltily. Then John’s face fell a little. “So...where do we go from here?” he asked.

Sherlock had been pondering this ever since they got off the plane. He had finally come to a conclusion. Sherlock bravely swallowed back his sorrow and said, “It pains me to say this, John. But I believe I can no longer have you in my life.”

“What?” said John, eyes wide with panic and sadness. “Why not? You don’t...want me?”

“More than anything,” Sherlock said quickly. “But you can’t help me anymore, John. I’m dangerous. Look what nearly happened to you and your daughter because of me.”

“Hey, that was _my_ fault. _I_ cheated on Mary. If anything, you saved us. Will you ever stop putting all this burden on yourself?”

“John, I’ve only ever ruined your life, over and over again-”

“ _No_ ,” said John firmly. “You’ve only made it better.” He licked his lips in frustration, trying to figure out how to make the detective see. “What if...what if we didn't _have_ to be apart? Sherlock, you always say you’re heartless, but you don’t fool me. You have _one of the biggest hearts in the world_. I couldn’t ask for someone better to raise my daughter with me. You love her already. I know you’d protect her with your dying breath. Just like you’d do me.”

Sherlock looked at his toes. “And what happens when you meet someone new? I’ll just bow out of your life again?” Sherlock looked up. “I would. If that’s what it took. To make you happy. You and your daughter.”

“Sherlock, there’s not going to _be_ anyone else. It’s you and me. Don’t you understand? _You_ make me happy.”

Sherlock’s eyes tightened, like he was holding back tears. “John, I don’t think you want me in the same way I want you. You may be physically attracted to me, but you’ll only ever prefer women romantically. And I know I’m your best friend, but to me, you’ve always been so much more. Because I…I…”

“Sherlock, please,” John begged quietly. “Please say it. I need you to.”

“I…I-I don’t know how, John, I-I’m not strong like you, I’ve never…”

John waited.

Sherlock took a deep breath. Then he looked directly into John’s eyes and sang delicately, “ _Heart. Beats. Fast. Colors and promises. How to be brave? How can I love when I’m afraid to fall? But watching you stand alone, all of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow. One step closer…_ ” Sherlock inhaled again, and his voice grew a little stronger. “ _I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling, don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I’ll love you for a thousand more._ ”

John’s face broke out into a grin and he began to sing back to him. “ _Time. Stands. Still. Beauty in all she is._ ” John cupped Sherlock’s cheek, and the detective leant into the touch, smiling shyly. “ _I will be brave. I will not let anything take away what’s standing in front of me. Every breath, every hour has come to this. One step closer._ ”

Together, they sang: “ _I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling, don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years. I’ll love you for a thousand more. And all along, I believed I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me; I have loved you for a thousand years. I’ll love you for a thousand more._ ” Unable to resist any longer, John surged forward, coaxing Sherlock’s head down so he could kiss him.

The kiss was soft and sweet, but also deep and strong at the same time. Sherlock lost himself in the feeling of John’s lips against his, their bodies entwined, and nothing had ever felt so _right_. John was holding him, guiding him; he actually _wanted_ to kiss him. John’s lips poured out so much love; he was so fierce, but so gentle too. Was this how the princess in the fairy tale felt when the prince finally gave her True Love’s Kiss? No, Sherlock decided. This had to be better. Because Sherlock wasn't some passive sleeping beauty waiting around in a tower for some somnophiliac to awaken him. John wasn't a carefree knight in shining armor who swooped in to save the damsel in distress. Sherlock and John had waited so long for this. They had both suffered and longed for this, and after all this time, they were getting the happily ever after they deserved. This kiss wasn't just an expression of mutual attraction. It was coming _home_.

Sherlock felt embarrassing tears leaking out, dripping onto his cheeks, but he couldn’t find it in him to care. They pulled apart, and Sherlock, gazing into John’s eyes, murmured, “ _One step closer…_ ”

John tenderly brushed his tears away with his thumbs. “ _One step closer_ ,” he echoed. “ _I have died everyday waiting for you. Darling, don’t be afraid, I have loved you for a thousand years…I’ll love you for a thousand more._ ”

Smiling so big he thought his face would crack, Sherlock sang with him. “ _And all along, I believed I would find you. Time has brought your heart to me; I have loved you for a thousand years. I’ll love you for a thousand more._ ” They brought their lips together once again, then hugged tightly.

“You taste like an ashtray,” John murmured into his neck and laughed. “I love you. God, I love you.”

“I love _you_ , John. More than you'll ever realize.”

Neither of them were naïve enough to believe they’d never have problems. They'd bicker about Sherlock making a mess of the flat, or John putting Sherlock's sock index in disorder, or whose turn it was to buy the milk, and sometimes they’d even have full fledged arguments. But they would never, ever stop loving each other. They'd be together always.

* * *

Molly watched Sherlock and John wistfully. “God, I wish I could find love like that,” she said. “But the only guys I seem to fall for bat for the other side. That’s it. I give up men.”

Lestrade shuffled his feet awkwardly as Molly huffed. “ _If you change your mind_ ,” he whispered. “ _I’m the first in line._ ”

Molly looked at him confusedly.

Lestrade shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “ _Honey, I’m still free. Take a chance on me?_ ”

Molly’s cheeks turned pink.

“ _If you need me, let me know, gonna be around. If you’ve got no place to go, if you’re feelin’ down._ ” Lestrade pulled his hands of his pockets and took Molly’s. He sang in a much louder, confident voice. “ _If you’re all alone, when the handsome blokes have gone, honey, I’m still free. Take a chance on me. Gonna do my very best, and it ain’t no lie. If you put me to the test, if you let me try. Take a chance on me…take a chance on me._ ”

Molly grinned, flustered. “ _We can go dancing_ ,” she sang timidly.

“ _We can go walking,_ ” Lestrade replied, lacing his fingers with hers. “ _As long as we’re together. Listen to some music._ ”

“ _Maybe just talking, you’d get to know me better_ ,” Molly sang back, leaning into him.

“ _So much that I wanna do. When I dream I’m alone with you, it’s magic_ ,” said Lestrade, picking Molly up and swinging her around, making her squeal and hold onto to him. “ _You want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair. But I think you know…that I can’t let go_.”

Lestrade set Molly back on her feet, and the coroner threw her arms around his neck and gleefully kissed him, to his pleasant surprise. Then Molly pulled back and sang to him, “ _When you’re all alone, when the pretty birds have flown, honey, I’m still free. Take a chance on me. Gonna do my very best and it ain’t no lie. If you put me to the test, if you let me try. Take a chance on me. Take a chance on me_ …oh, Greg.” Then Molly dragged him into another kiss, which Lestrade was happy to reciprocate.

* * *

From his secret surveillance van, Mycroft was watching the happy couples sing and dance on CCTV. “How long is Smith’s toxin going to last in their systems?” Anthea asked from where she was sitting to the side, eyes glued to her phone screen as usual, thumbs flying across the keys.

“Approximately two days,” sighed Mycroft, rubbing his shiny forehead. “My God, I don’t know how I’m going to survive all this sickening showcase.”

“Well, boss, I think you’re about to have to endure a bit more.”

Mycroft looked at his associate sharply. “Why?”

“Because I drank some of that musical tea too. And someone has to sing the closing number.” For the first time in history, Mycroft’s assistant put down her Blackberry. She stood up, dusted off her mini-skirt, and exited the surveillance van. “ _Ever, ever after…_ ” she sang into the night, loud and clear.

“Oh God,” Mycroft groaned, exhausted, slamming his head on his control panel. No one knew what it was like to be him.

Anthea found her way to the lovers, who were still basking the glow of their own happiness. “ _Storybook endings, fairy tales comin’ true. Deep down inside, we wanna believe they still do. In our secretest heart…it’s our favorite part of the story. Let’s just admit we all wanna make it to…ever, ever after. If we just don’t get it our own way. Ever, ever after. It may only be a wish away._ ”

“ _Start a new fashion, wear your heart on your sleeve_ ,” said Lestrade.

“ _Sometimes you reach what’s realest by making believe,_ ” Molly added.

“ _Unafraid, unashamed_ ,” John chimed in. “ _There is joy to be claimed in this world._ ”

“ _You even might wind up being glad to be you,_ ” Sherlock finished.

“ _Ever, ever after! Though the world may tell you it’s not smart_ ,” belted Anthea. “ _Ever, ever after! The world can be yours if you let your heart believe in ever after…no wonder your heart feels it’s flying, your head feels it’s spinning. Each happy ending’s a brand new beginning! Let yourself be enchanted; you might just break through…to ever, ever after. Forever could even start today! Ever, ever after! Maybe it’s just one wish away! Your ever, ever after!_ ”

“ _I've been dreaming of a true love’s kiss_ ,” sang Sherlock and Molly dreamily in the background, then got their wish from their respective beaus.

Anthea finished the song. “ _Whoa-ooh-whoa-ooh-whoooooa…forever, ever after!_ ”

_The End._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs Used:  
> -"A Thousand Years" by Christina Petri (my favorite song EVER)  
> -"Take A Chance On Me" by ABBA  
> -"Ever Ever After" by Carrie Underwood, from Disney's Enchanted
> 
> Well, it's done! My next project is going to be...All That. ;)
> 
> Thanks to notjustmom for encouraging me to write this. I'm gifting it to you, if that's alright.
> 
> XOXOX -Catie
> 
> PS: please come check out my Tumblr, dread-pirate-redbeard.tumblr.com


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